The Light on the Dark Side of Me
by LMPhilbrick
Summary: Tod Stiles and Buz Murdock, two friends traveling around the United States in search of something better, find themselves in Atlanta, Georgia in the summer of 1962. Things seem promising until the Corvette is stolen and then Buz is grabbed by the thieves. Now Tod must drive a vicious stock car race to win back either the car or his buddy. (COMPLETE)
1. Welcome to Atlanta

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Based on the television series Route 66 created by Herbert B. Leonard and Stirling Silliphant.

© Copyright: 2018. Lisa Philbrick

Route 66:  
The Light on the Dark Side of Me  
By: Lisa Philbrick

 _Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. - Helen Keller_

 _Atlanta, GA – July 1962_

The blue open top 1960 Corvette moved with the flow of Atlanta's commuters as the July sun blazed in the morning sky. Behind the wheel, blond freckle-faced Tod Stiles glanced to his buddy in the passenger seat, the dark haired, dark eyed and, this morning at least, dark brooding Buz Murdock. They were heading west of the city, to Inman Freight Yard where the boys had been working for only four days at this point.

"There's no other way is there?" Tod asked.

"Nope. I got no choice. For four days I've tried to be reasonable, respectful, but the yard crew won't accept me as long as Vern Tate doesn't accept me."

"Then why isn't he freight master?"

"He doesn't want the job. Believe me, I asked that. Thing is, he could do the job easy enough, he'd been doing it because apparently the last guy that was the freight master had no idea what he was doing and it was Vern that kept operations from grinding to a halt. Now they got somebody who knows how to do the job, namely me, but they won't give me a chance to prove it. There's only one way to settle this with Vern and that's to fight him for it."

Tod grinned. "Reminds me of a rich kid from Yale who showed up on the docks in New York one day to work for his father's company—"

Buz laughed. "—and proceeded to clear the place when he got into a pier brawl with the loading supervisor who didn't think he could do the work. But that's just it, Tod. I gotta prove myself to Vern the same way you proved yourself to me. Otherwise, this yard is never going to run right."

The Corvette crossed the bridge that spanned the tracks of the freight yard. A number of acres of track spread out in both directions of Inman Yard, with locomotives, box cars and fuel tank cars lined along the tracks in various states of transport. One locomotive, with what looked like a mile long train of box cars, was slowly pulling along on a track beneath the bridge, making its way south to deliver coal to a power plant in Florida.

Tod parked the Corvette in the dirt lot where other employees parked and he and Buz walked toward the yard. Before they went their separate ways to different parts of the yard, Tod looked to his friend.

"Good luck."

"Yeah. Listen, if this doesn't work out and I get us fired I apologize in advance. Just come down to the yard and pick up whatever pieces are left of me at the end of the day ok?"

Todd gave a snort.

They parted ways and Buz headed toward the cargo loading area, where tractor trailer trucks came to pick up containers that had arrived, keeping his head high. Having been baptized by fire in the Hell's Kitchen section of New York, Atlanta's early morning heat – and the unruly sneers he got from the yard workers as he passed – hardly bothered him.

"Hey New Yorkie, ya gotta hair outta place…"

"Here comes the pretty boy…"

"Pretty Boy looks mad this mornin'…"

Buz glared at those who spoke but otherwise didn't reply to the comments. He'd been harassed about his New York accent, and his "pretty boy" appearance, for four days. But he showed nothing "pretty" this morning. The set of his jaw and the dark eyed glare was sending a clear message.

Buz arrived at the shanty that served as the "office" and radio hut for the cargo operations. Vern Tate was already there, having parked himself on the stool and three other workers were gathered around in conversation. The talking stopped as Buz approached and the men sensed the challenge that was soon to come. Nobody moved but the three workers all glanced at Vern.

Vernon Tate could have easily been the guy Jimmy Dean was singing about in the song "Big Bad John." Dark haired and blue eyed, he stood six foot four, was broad shouldered from the many years of working the freight yard and one truly did not give the man any lip. He was a hell bent Southern boy and was someone many of the other freight yard workers respected.

Back in Buz's old neighborhood, Vernon Tate would have made a hell of a Vice President or even a War Counselor – the guy that made the decision to fight and threw the first punch. The organizational structure of a street gang was like any other organization, there were leaders and there were followers. Vern was part of the leadership structure amongst the men in the yard, even though he had no formal title within the freight company. Although Vern had no ambition to be in the position Buz was in many in the yard felt he should have been, and for him to be passed over for a Yank was more or less insulting.

"Little early for a coffee break," Buz barked.

"We were waitin' fer you fearless leader," Vern said.

"Oh? Need somebody to tell you what do to? Where to go? How to do your job?"

Vern scowled. "We know how to do our job," he replied, standing up from the stool. "It's you we ain't so sure about."

"Really. You know how to do the job? Coulda fooled me! For four days I've had nothing but smart mouths and goofballs working this yard and if I could, I'd fire every single one of you!"

Vern snorted. "And what, load the containers all by yourself?"

"Why not? Probably get it done faster than you clowns do."

Vern laughed and looked at the handful of other yard workers who had gathered around. "Didja hear that y'all? Pretty Boy here's gonna run the whole yard all by hisself!"

The workers laughed and heckled Buz. Buz showed no reaction, keeping a steady gaze on Vern.

"Listen," Vern said to Buz. "I spent the past two years keepin' this yard runnin' right because of the last moron we had for a freight master. Far as I'm concerned you can just head on back to New York because we don't need another one." Vern brushed past Buz, who reached out and grabbed Vern's arm, spun him and unloaded a shotgun blast of a right cross to the big man's jaw.

The blow caused Vern to stumble a little, but didn't take him down. He caught his footing and brought a hand to his jaw to rub it, looking at Buz with some surprise.

The gathered yard workers were startled too. Several of them backed away from the two men giving them plenty of room.

"No," Buz said evenly to Vern. "See, I spent _four_ years busting tail on the docks in New York, so I'm not the moron when it comes to this job, you are. You could have taken this job yourself but you didn't yet you still want to be the big man in the yard. You can't have it both ways, so there's only one way we're going to settle this, Vern. One way."

Vern snorted. "You ain't…got the guts." Some of the grit in the words were lost when Vern met Buz's hardened gaze. Next thing he knew, the 'pretty boy' was charging at him like a bull.

Both went down to the ground and the two men tussled in the dusty grey dirt, rolling around and wrestling for an advantage. The gathered yard workers watched and shouted, cheering on the fight. Buz scrambled away and sprung back to his feet and stayed on the offensive, barrel loading a punch to Vern's midsection as soon as the man stood up. Vern bent from the blow but managed to raise an arm to block another hit from Buz and returned fire with a direct hit to the face. The blow sent Buz stumbling back and Vern charged at him, pushing him up against the container car that was on the track.

The first tractor trailer truck of the day to pick up a container was pulling up but could go no further with the gathered yard workers blocking the way. From the cab of the truck, the driver could see the fight in progress.

Buz didn't remain up against the container car for long, ducking a punch from Vern that went into the side of the container instead. With Vern stunned by the blow to his hand, Buz went back on the offensive, landing a couple of good punches to Vern's gut again. The fight moved away from the container and back to the middle of yard where Buz continued to soften Vern up with punches and then hit him with a sharp upper cut.

Vern's head whipped back and the big man stumbled to the ground. The gathered yard workers suddenly became quiet with all eyes looking from Vern to the "pretty boy" who stood now victoriously, touching a cut on his face with the back of his hand. Although there was some disappointment showing on the men's faces, they began to look at the dust covered, bruised and bloodied Buz with a new found respect. They slowly moved closer to the two fighters to see what the final verdict was.

Vern got to his knees and shook his head, gathering back his bearings again. He stood up from the ground, brushed himself off and looked at Buz as he flexed his hand that had punched the cargo container. "Where th' hell did you learn to fight like that?"

"Hell's Kitchen," Buz answered, breathing hard. "In New York."

"Never heard of it. But do me a favor will ya?"

"What?"

"Don't bring any of your friends from there down here awright?" Vern extend a respectful handshake to the new freight master. "Mistah Murdock."

Buz smiled and returned the handshake. "You got it. Let's get to work, Vern."

Vern turned to the gathered workers. "You heard da man! Let's go!"

The men dispersed back to their locations and the tractor trailer driver waited to be directed to move forward. He looked at his watch.

Buz was aware of the time too. He grabbed his hard hat from the shanty and put it on. He waved to the crane operator to get moving. The crane lumbered forward while Vern and three other yard workers climbed up to the top of the cargo container.

Buz pulled his hard hat down to shield his dark eyes from the sun and looked up to watch. On top of the container, Vern waved the crane forward then grabbed hold of the hooks and chains as the crane lowered them down. The four men each took a hook and went to the four corners of the container to secure them. Vern then secured the main hook line to the crane and the four men climbed down from the container. When everyone was clear, Vern signaled to the crane operator and the crane lifted the rust red cargo container off the freight car. The crane then backed away from the train and Buz waved the tractor truck forward.

When the truck was lined up with the suspended cargo container, Buz held his hand up for the driver to stop. He then stepped up to the driver window where the driver greeted him good morning and handed him his manifest.

"What the heck was the fight all about?" the driver asked.

"Staff meeting," Buz said, not missing a beat. He checked the number on the cargo container, then to his list on a clipboard he held, then to the manifest from the driver. Everything matched up and he signed off on the manifest and handed it back. "You're all set," he said, "Sorry for the delay." He signaled to the crane operator. "Go ahead!"

The crane operator waved and the cargo container began to descend down to the tractor chassis. Yard workers guided it down to line up and to secure it to the chassis. The truck driver stepped from the cab of his truck to hook up the electrical for the container lights to work, while Vern and three other men climbed up to the top of the container to unhook it from the crane.

When everything was set the driver waved thanks to the yard workers and climbed back into the cab of his truck. A moment later the truck rumbled away.

Meanwhile, in the dispatch office, Tod Stiles was on the phone with someone from one of the trucking companies that was supposed to have a truck there to pick up a cargo. The blond, freckle-faced young man listened and nodded.

"Tomorrow? Ok, we'll have the container set aside. We'll need an ETA as soon as you can…. Ok, thanks." Tod hung up and lifted the dispatch radio mike for the cargo delivery and pick up section of the yard. "Dispatch to pickup."

Buz barely heard Tod's voice over the radio from the shanty as the crane was moving into position to lift the next cargo container. He walked to the communications hut and stepped inside, lifting the radio mike. "Go ahead."

"Have you pulled container 1561 yet?"

Buz looked at his list. "No, it's coming up soon though."

"You have to put it aside. The tractor that was coming for it won't be here, they had an accident on the way from Montgomery last night. They're sending another tractor but it won't be here until sometime very late tonight, they'll do the pickup sometime in the morning. I've asked for an ETA."

"Ok. Hang on."

In the dispatch center, the head of cargo operations, Mr. Roche, over heard the radio chatter and he looked over at Tod. He waited, listening for Buz to come back to confirm he had a spot in the yard for the container to be held.

"No problem, I got a spot here. 4458 is supposed to be picked up early tomorrow, I can slide it in behind that."

"Roger. I'll update the stacking sheet."

"Ok."

"Hey, everything ok down there?"

Buz's chuckle came through the receiver. "Yeah, we had a very productive staff meeting this morning."

Tod grinned. "Good." He clicked off the radio and made the necessary manual edit to the stacking sheet, the running list of cargo being held pending various reasons – delayed pickup, inspection, processing, whathaveyou – and the anticipated pickup times for the containers.

Mr. Roche looked pleased. "Well, Mr. Stiles I must say you and your friend sure know how to coordinate incoming and outgoing cargo. You've been here four days and it's like you've been doing this for years."

Tod smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Roche. Like I told Mr. Preston when he hired us, Buz and I worked the barges and loading docks for my father's shipping company in New York, so keeping track of cargo coming and going is almost second nature to us."

"Yes, Mr. Preston spoke highly of the both of you and I'm glad he was right. Keep up the good work, Mr. Stiles."

Tod nodded. "Yes, sir."

That evening, the boys returned to the boarding house they were staying at. Mrs. Gebhardt, a widow whose children were grown and on their own, leaving her with a house with more rooms than she knew what to do with, was in the kitchen fixing dinner.

Tod and Buz could smell the food as they came in and they called out to her to let her know they were there. She came to the kitchen doorway, a heavier set woman in her late 50s with a pleasant expression, and smiled at the boys as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"There ya are," she said, her European accent obvious. "Dinner will be ready shortly – Buz, what happened to you?"

"Oh, it's nothing Mrs. Gebhardt—"

"That is bad cut!" She gently touched his chin to turn his face so she could see the cut on his cheek in the light. "You were in a fight?"

"Staff meeting."

"What? Oh now you being silly! You come with me, we get that cleaned up. You have handsome face and that cut does you nothing…" She took Buz by the arm and led him to the bathroom at the backside of the house.

Were it not for the boarders she took in, Mrs. Gebhardt wouldn't have found much else to do with herself. Forever a mother, she watched over her boarders, particularly any youngsters who stayed with her, making sure they ate, that they had clean linens and, in the case of Buz, medical attention.

Tod watched with a grin from the bathroom door way as Mrs. Gebhardt fussed over Buz.

"Really, Mrs. Gebhardt, it's no big deal." Buz looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Look, it's all scabbed over."

"But it wasn't tended to properly. When did this happen?"

"This morning."

"This morning? And you've gone all day like this? Working that dusty freight yard?" She shook her head. "Boys…"

Although if the roles were reversed, Tod knew he would be getting the same treatment but he couldn't resist a tease. "She's right Buz. I can't take you to the nice places if you insist on looking like that."

"Ah, you boys going out gallivanting tonight, ja?"

Although she respected people's privacy, she showed a genuine interest in the lives and stories of the people who stayed with her. Tod and Buz had especially fascinated her with their stories of places they'd been all over the country so far. The yin and yang of the two boys also fascinated her. Buz, the outgoing New Yorker, had a gift of gab and was quite the talker. Tod, the more reserved New Englander, took a little bit to engage but once talking you almost couldn't shut him up.

"That's the plan," Buz said. He flinched a little as she applied a dab of peroxide to the cut. "Only tell me, Tod, we're not going to that hillybilly hoedown place again tonight?"

"No. I found another place called The King. Supposed to be a jazz club."

"Good."

"You don't like the country music?" Mrs. Gebhardt asked.

"I got nothing against country music," Buz said. "But I don't think the old Confederates liked us."

Tod pulled the Corvette into the parking lot of The King nightclub and the two friends looked at the neon sign that beckoned them.

"Jazz club?" Buz asked.

"Jazz club," Tod replied.

Buz popped open the passenger door and got out of the car.

Tod grinned as he stepped from the car. "You know, not all the old Confederates disliked us. I seem to recall one little honkytonk angel thought you were just… "

Buz shot back a look as he crossed the front of the car. " _Angel_? Surely, you jest."

The display poster outside the front entrance of The King nightclub advertised that night's entertainment. _Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, The King's own Diane Lovely live… with the Sam Chambers Quintet…_

The lady in the photo that greeted the line of patrons coming in was, indeed, lovely, the singer an alluring blonde with a pleasant smile and sophisticated look.

Buz gestured to the poster. "Now _there's_ an angel." The two headed inside.

The King nightclub had existed in various styles and names in Atlanta since the 1930s. Now under the ownership of Silas Doyle, an ex-moonshine driver turned business entrepreneur, the club had been reincarnated five years earlier, ditching its previous Victorian royalty inspired décor for modern mid-twentieth century vibe.

The only "royal" thing the club maintained was the color, royal blue. The cocktail tables were marbleized blue and grey, each surrounded by a set of plush, high-backed chairs. The lounge area faced a small, platform stage where deep royal blue curtains framed the backdrop and sides. The dim, recessed lighting in the lounge contrasted with the brighter, colored lights of the stage, giving the whole place an intimate atmosphere.

Tod and Buz found a table, just off to the side of the stage and took their seats. Buz bobbed his head to the beat of the band, liking what he heard. A cocktail waitress dressed in a royal blue form fitting dress with a very short skirt and black sheer nylons came over and took their order for drinks.

A few minutes later, at 8pm, the house lights darkened and the stage became the main focus under a spotlight. Diane Lovely emerged into the light, wearing a black strapless dress, her blonde hair swept up in a French twist, and smiled to the audience as they applauded enthusiastically.

"Good evening," she said into the microphone. "Thank you…"

Then the music started and she began to sing and Tod and Buz soon understood the crowd's enthusiasm. She captivated the entire room, singing sultry songs with a smoky voice. The real highlight of the night was when she stepped down from the stage during songs like _I've Got a Crush on You,_ singing directly to any of the men sitting at the tables near the front of the lounge as if the song were just for him. Tod and Buz got this same treatment as she sang to both of them, but seemed to linger on Tod a little longer.

After she finished her set and appeared at the bar later both friends approached, both friends approached her, along with half the rest of the males in the lounge. Most merely sought an autograph, others brazenly asked for a date. Tod held himself in reserve while Buz, the self-proclaimed jazz music aficionado, attempted to woo Diane with his knowledge and appreciation of the genre.

Diane was polite enough to Buz but couldn't have cared less. She signed autographs and endured Buz's carrying on, smiling and replying to him here and there but then she politely excused herself from the bar. She looked at Tod as she was about to pass and smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Good show tonight, Miss Lovely."

"Thank you." She continued on, heading back to her dressing room.

Good natured competition between the friends ensued after that to win Diane's attention. But it was becoming apparent after visiting the club again on Friday and Saturday, that Tod might be winning. She again lingered longer on him when she sang a song directly to audience members during her show. Tod, meanwhile, was becoming completely enamored but had no further opportunity to approach her, as she didn't come out to the bar after her set on Friday night and so far on this Saturday night, it didn't look like she was coming out either.

Their waitress came over with another round of drinks and picked up their empty glasses.

"Do you know if Diane might be coming out to the bar later?" Tod asked.

"Probably not," the girl replied. "If she's not out here by now, she probably won't be. She doesn't come after every show."

Tod nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure thing." She picked up the empties and left.

"Aw, tough luck tiger," Buz said.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't scare her off."

"Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Stuart Ryan walked casually through the dark parking lot of The King, cigarette in hand. The dark haired 30-year-old car thief looked at the vehicles parked in the lot with a keen eye, the music from the jazz band drifting out from the front door when it opened, but he had no concern of who was coming or going. His boss, Silas Doyle, never permitted customers cars to be stolen right out of the parking lot. That would have been bad for business.

So instead Stuart checked out the vehicles, in particular looking for repeat visitors to the club. Of course, only particular cars were noted. And a Corvette was one of those particular cars. This was the third night Stuart had noticed the drop top roadster in the parking lot.

He didn't linger near it long, just enough to note the New York license plate, and then he stepped back toward the front entrance, lingering at the end of the club's canopy awning, the car still in view. He took a drag on his cigarette as the front door opened again and Tod and Buz walked by him. He glanced at them as they headed toward the Corvette. After the car exited the parking lot, Stuart dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and crushed it with his foot. He then turned and went inside the club.

Stuart maneuvered through the lounge and passed the bar to get to the door of his boss's office. The door was marked PRIVATE and he knocked first. Given permission to enter, he opened the door and went in.

Forty-year-old Silas Doyle sat at an antique roll top desk writing entries into a ledger book. Although well dressed in a suit and tie, the ex-moonshine driver had that perpetual greasy look about him. He was handsome, with the creases of age starting to show at the corners of his blue eyes, and his dark brown hair not yet showing one speck of grey.

On the wall that faced him were several framed photos of race cars, sports cars, noted friends, politicians and celebrities that had passed through The King nightclub over the past five years. A series of shelves on another wall held an old fashioned liquor jug, various shot glasses, racing trophies, awards and framed civic accolades. Books were bookended by two small wooden busts of a king, leftovers from the club's previous incarnation. Another wall had a large advertising poster from when Silas open his third auto dealership in Atlanta just about a year ago.

Silas looked up as Stuart entered. The door was closed before he spoke.

"Might have a Corvette for you," Stuart said.

"A new one?"

Stuart shook his head. "At least two years old."

Silas nodded. "Still worth it. Local?"

"Not sure. It's got a New York plate on it. Might be tourists but it's been here three nights this week."

Silas nodded. "Check on it anyway. Market's always good for Vettes." He smiled.

Stuart nodded and turned, leaving the office.

The following Thursday night, the Corvette returned to The King. Upon seeing Tod and Buz shown to a table near the stage, Stuart Ryan slipped out a side door and found the Corvette in the parking lot. He paused as other customers were passing by the open top car and when they were out of sight, he approached.

He reached in from the passenger side and opened the glove box, finding the registration paper. He looked at it quickly, noting the name and address on it, before tucking it back into the glove box and closing it again.

 _Tod Stiles. New York._

He would have his work cut out for him on this one, trying to figure out if Mr. Stiles and his friend were visiting Atlanta or were new residents. He returned inside the club.

A short haired brunette waitress, wearing the nightclub's signature royal blue form fitting dress with a very short skirt and black sheer nylons came over to Tod and Buz's table.

"Hey fellas, you're getting to be regulars around here," she drawled pleasantly, recognizing the boys. She paused a moment, looking at Buz. "Buz…," she said and then pointed to Tod. "…and Tod."

"And you're Vicky," Buz said with a smile.

"I am!" She smiled back and laid down cocktail napkins on their table. "What can I get you fellas…?"

After Vicky took their orders, Buz watched her go and smiled to himself. Tod may have gained Diane's attention, but the nightclub offered plenty of feminine charms to appreciate.

The lights went down at 8 and once again Diane was received with very appreciative applause. There was no mistaking when she came around the tables singing, and she lingered longer on Tod again, as to who was winning her attention.

Buz was disappointed but he grinned seeing the goofy expression on Tod's face.

When she finished her set she disappeared off the stage and the house lights came up. The band took a break and piped in music eventually filled the lounge. Every few minutes Tod turned in his seat to look toward the bar to see if Diane was there yet.

"Eh, she's probably not coming out," Tod said, turning again back to his drink.

From his seat, Buz had the better view of the bar. "Tod…" Buz nodded toward the bar.

Tod turned in his seat and looked. Diane was walking to the bar, where a small handful of men soon gathered around her.

"Lookit those good-for-nothings," Buz said. He looked at Tod, waiting for him to get up and go over. For some reason Tod was hesitating, which wasn't typical of him. "Well, don't just sit there!" Buz hissed. "Go on! Save the lady from the riff raff. Or do I have to?"

"And watch you woo her with the history of jazz?" Tod shook his head and stood up, heading for the bar.

"…that's very sweet of you, thank you…" Diane was saying. She was signing a magazine photo for one of the young men and she handed it back with a smile. The young man remained as another stepped up and presented a photo for an autograph.

"I'm surprised you haven't had your license suspended Miss Lovely," another man said, the drink he held in his hand sloshing around a little.

"Suspended for what?" she asked, not looking up from her autograph signing.

"For driving all these guys crazy."

The small group of men chuckled. Even Diane smiled politely, despite having heard lines like this just about all her life. She handed the photo back to the autograph seeker who thanked her.

"Yes, Miss Lovely," the man with the drink continued, "if you were words on a page, you'd be fiiine print."

Diane more or less ignored the man. The two autograph seekers departed and an older couple stepped up to speak to her briefly.

Tod bided his time and kept an eye on the man with the drink. It seemed he'd had a few drinks already and whether the alcohol had diminished his social graces or he simply just didn't have any was anybody's guess. The man paused until the couple moved on.

"Are you from Tennessee Miss Lovely?"

"Um, no…"

"You sure? Because you're the only ten I see in this place! How about raisins, do you like raisins? How about a date?"

Tod rolled his eyes at this point. "Ok," he said, "I've been standing here about five minutes now and not one of these slobs has offered to buy you a drink. May I?"

Diane looked up and recognized Tod. "Well," she said with a smile. "That's the best offer I've had all night."

The other men that were around all looked at Tod as the tall blond stepped through the crowd and up to the bar. "Bartender, whatever the lady wants."

"Scotch and water, Jerry," Diane said.

It obvious that Tod had become the pick of the evening, the other men started to melt away. Tod sat down on the bar stool next to Diane, who couldn't help but grin at this wholesome looking young man.

"Always nice to have a breath of fresh air once in a while," she said. "I love my audience and my fans, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I just want to be able to sit at the bar and have a drink and not have to hide in my dressing room." She glanced across the lounge to where Buz was still at the table, talking to the brunette waitress who had served them drinks earlier. "Did you abandon your friend?" she asked Tod.

Tod looked. "Oh give him a few minutes. I think he's about to abandon me."

"I'm sorry he won't get far. Management doesn't allow the girls to fraternize with the customers."

Tod smirked. "That won't stop Buz." He looked at Diane. "Does that rule apply to you?"

Diane smiled. "No. One of the perks of being the star attraction."

Jerry the bartender arrived with Diane's drink.

"Well, you're certainly that," Tod said. "All joking aside, Miss Lovely, you're a great singer. Buz and I enjoy your show."

"Thank you." She paused to take a drink. "Yes, your friend seems quite the jazz enthusiast. Are you?"

Tod shook his head. "I like to listen. But Buz, he can tell you every jazz trumpeter and every record they ever played on."

"I've seen you two in here a couple of times now. You're new faces though."

"Yeah. First time was a whim. Buz and I were just looking for a place to hang out here in Atlanta. We've only been here for a couple weeks."

"I didn't think you sounded like a local," Diane said with a knowing smile. She glanced toward Buz as he showed a charming smile while chatting with the waitress. "So he's Buz. What's your name?"

"Tod. Tod Stiles."

"Well, Tod, if nobody's said this to you yet, 'welcome to Atlanta.'"

Tod smiled. "Thanks."

Diane couldn't help but chuckle. The young man was handsome but had such an innocent looking face. He barely looked old enough to drink, but she had seen him hold a martini glass at his table with a comfortable poise and a sophisticated polish, like he'd been drinking the stuff for years.

Across the lounge, Stuart watched Diane from the shadows. He smiled. Short of Diane charming the keys to the Corvette right out of Tod Stiles' possession, this couldn't be working any better. He watched them as they talked for a few more minutes and then Diane took her leave.

As she walked toward the back hall way near the stage to return to her dressing room, she was still smiling from the young man's happy-go-lucky demeanor.

Stuart noticed this and slid up to her easily. "Potential?" he asked slyly.

Diane's smile faded now. She figured Stuart was looking to talk business, which was all they ever talked about. She shrugged. "Seems like a nice guy."

"Nice guy, is that all?" They stopped walking half way down the hall way and Stuart turned to her. "My dear, the young man drives a Corvette. Don't you recognize potential when you see it?"

Diane was surprised. "Corvette?"

"Corvette."

"He said he works at the freight yard with his friend, how does he afford a Corvette?

"The freight yard?"

"That's what he said."

Stuart figured his job just got a little easier. "Well, who cares how he could afford it? He's got one and Silas wants it. So you just keep on being nice to him, work your charms and we'll set him up like we have the others."

Diane looked mildly disappointed but she nodded. "For my usual cut?"

"Of course," Stuart replied with a smile. "Can't do it without you." He leaned to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before walking away.

Diane paused in the hall for a moment and briefly felt bad for Tod. He did seem like a nice kid. She shrugged to herself, her moment of sympathy passed, and continued on to her dressing room. It was just another car, just another man…

…and just another lie.


	2. It's Just a Car

Late Monday morning, in the dusty parking lot of Inman Yard, Stuart walked casually past several parked vehicles until he came upon the light blue 1960 Corvette. It wasn't hard to spot, as it stuck out a little, parked there amongst older sedans, station wagons and some well-worn pickup trucks of the other railyard workers. It sat, top down, basking in the hot Atlanta sunshine, the black and gold New York license plate also distinguishing it from the varied red and white Georgia plates that adorned other cars.

Stuart stepped around the car, looking curious and admiring now that he could see it in the daylight. Although not brand new itself, it was the newest car amongst its parking mates, yet it had as many miles, if not more than most of the vehicles in the lot. Almost 65,000 to be exact.

Stuart stepped away from the car and frowned. The high mileage only added to his mild curiosity about the car and the two young men he knew that accompanied it. He dug into the pocket of his short sleeve shirt for his cigarettes, slipping one out of the box and paused a moment to light it. The car otherwise appeared well cared for and would fetch a good price. The odometer could be rolled back, he concluded. Nobody would know any different.

In the distance, he heard the blast of a train horn and the metallic squealing of rail cars rolling along tracks. He didn't need to linger any longer. If the boys were working, they would probably be in Atlanta for a while and he figured he would see them again at the club on Thursday. Taking a drag on his cigarette, he left the parking lot.

Before noon, he returned to The King and went to Silas Doyle's private office. After entering he took a seat in one of the Victorian style chairs and helped himself to a starlight mint from a tray on the desk. "I found that Corvette."

"Good," Silas said, closing his ledger book. "Where?"

"The freight yard."

Silas looked up. "The freight yard?"

"Apparently that's where those boys work."

Silas frowned and shook his head, not even bothering to try to figure that out. "Is it worth it?"

"Oh yeah, it's worth it. It's in a good shape, would fetch a very nice price."

"What year is it?"

"It's either a '59 or a '60. We'll be able to tell once we have it."

Silas nodded. "Good. You said that car's been here two weeks in a row now?"

"Yeah. I think Diane likes one of them, I'm just not sure which one yet."

Silas gave a caustic chuckle. "What makes you say that?"

"She lingers longer at their table when she sings to the customers near the stage."

"Any idea which one owns the car?"

"The name on the registration card is Tod Stiles. I think that's the blond."

"Then setting him up shouldn't be a problem."

"Nope. As long as he keeps coming back."

"Well, you just tell Diane to make sure she does whatever it takes to keep him coming back. Whether she likes him or not."

After her Friday night show, Diane came out to the lounge and to the bar. She saw Tod approaching and for the first time she had mixed feelings. He was the new target so she had to turn on all the charms, but she found she didn't have to fake it as much for him – clearly a bad sign.

She obliged the few autograph seekers and then turned her attention to Tod and smiled. "Back again?" she said as she slid up on a bar stool.

"Back again," he replied, sitting next to her. "That surprise you?"

"No. But there's a lot of nightclubs in Atlanta. I figured handsome new comers like you and your friend would want to see all the variety in a new town."

Tod shrugged. "I dunno, this place seems to have some pretty good variety." He slipped his pack of cigarettes from inside his shirt pocket and shook it, bringing a couple of cigarettes up out of the pack. He offered Diane one.

She took it and he followed up smoothly with a match lit for her. She took a drag on the cigarette and carefully blew smoke away from Tod, sliding an ashtray on the bar closer.

After lighting one for himself, Tod looked toward the bartender and waved him over. "A drink for the lady, whatever she'd like."

Diane smiled. "My usual, Jerry."

"Sure thing." He left to get the drink.

"So tell me," she said, "What brought you to Atlanta?"

"Originally we were just passing through," Tod said. "But the car broke down and while we were waiting for it to be fixed we decided to stay awhile."

"Well, I'm glad you did. You may think there's variety here but for me, it's the same old crowd." Jerry returned with her scotch and water. She glanced at the drink and then looked at Tod. "I could get used to having someone like you buy my drinks."

"I'd like to buy you more than just a drink. Perhaps dinner?"

She smiled. "I'd like that."

Across the lounge, Stuart watched Diane and Tod. He could see enough to know that the young man's Corvette was as good as in the warehouse right now.

On Wednesday the rains came but stopped by the time Tod picked up Diane at her apartment. The top was up on the Corvette and the evening air was warm and still damp but did nothing to damper Tod's spirits. He wore a silly grin on his face the whole drive.

Diane, meanwhile, felt the humid air pressing on her along with her apprehension about this set up. She waited just outside the main entrance of her apartment building, watching for when Tod pulled up, dressed in a simple dark green short sleeved cocktail dress with a matching shawl. Her heart fluttered when the Corvette pulled up to a stop.

It fluttered again, much to her surprise, when she saw Tod step out of the car wearing dark slacks and a plaid sport coat. She pushed her apprehension aside, settled into her business mode and walked toward him and the car.

"Hi," he greeted with a smile.

"Hello fresh air," she replied, smiling back. Tod chuckled and opened the passenger door for her. She stepped into the car and he closed the door. A moment later he returned to behind the wheel and they drove away.

Diane picked the restaurant, one that featured French cuisine, near Buckhead and she directed Tod as to how to get there. Once there, they were seated at a table for two and presented menus. Diane watched with some surprise as Tod selected a wine from the menu for the both of them, could pronounce the French name for it and ordered it with ease.

After the waiter dashed off to get the drinks, Tod looked at Diane and saw her peculiar expression. "What?" he asked with genuine innocence.

"You really work in a freight yard?"

Tod chuckled. "Yes. What, a railroad worker can't enjoy a fine French wine?"

"Not around here usually. C'mon…." She leaned forward a little. "You're some rich kid from some old New England family and you got all kinds of money you don't know what to do with so you've come south to see how the other half lives to keep you humble is that it?"

Tod lowered his gaze, mildly offended. "No," he said. He looked at Diane again. "I am from New England originally, Connecticut, and I _used_ to be rich."

"Used to be?"

"Used to be." Tod paused. "My dad had a shipping company in New York. I worked for him, in between school semesters and would have joined the company permanently once I finished at Yale. Only that never happened. My dad got sick, the company started to have financial problems and then…he died. I didn't go back to Yale because I spent the next year navigating the bankruptcy court in New York, liquidating not only every asset of the business but also family assets to pay off the creditors. When it was all over, I broke even. I at least walked away with a clean slate. But all I had left were some personal belongings and my car. As for humble, believe me I had pretty big slice of that pie during those 12 odd months. Working this freight yard job, along with the other jobs Buz and I have done over the past year or so, has been a privilege."

Diane leaned back. "I'm sorry," she said.

Tod shook his head. "How were you to know?"

"I drew a conclusion about you, a wrong one. It was just, I couldn't reconcile you sitting there, very polished and poised, ordering a French wine that I can't even pronounce, and yet you work some job in a freight yard. What _do_ you do at the freight yard?"

"I work in dispatch, keeping track of what's coming and going for freight pickup."

"And your friend?"

"He works in the yard, unloading the containers from the trains to the trucks that come to pick them up."

"And your father's business was shipping and transport?"

Tod nodded with a half-smile. "Yeah. You could say Buz and I had a lot of previous experience."

The conversation paused as the waiter returned with the wine and poured a glass each for Tod and Diane. Tod raised the glass and sniffed and then took a sip. He nodded to the waiter. "Excellent."

The waiter smiled. "Very good, sir. Are you ready to order now or do you need a few more minutes?"

"If we could have a couple more minutes," Diane said.

"Certainly. I'll be back." The waiter exited.

Tod lifted his wine glass to Diane. "Here's to being humble."

Diane raised her glass and the two lightly tapped. There was a tinge of guilt and Diane lowered her gaze as she drank to the toast. Humble, indeed…

During dinner, Tod talked about a few of the places he and Buz had been so far. Diane encouraged him on, asking questions about what they'd done and who they'd met. It kept her mind off the whole point of this date, but only made her pending job that much more difficult as she enjoyed his stories and realized she really did like him.

"What about you?" Tod asked when they finished dinner and were concluding the meal with a cup of coffee. "I've talked enough about me, now I want to know about you."

Diane shrugged. "There's not much to tell, certainly not anything as exciting as what you've been doing for the past couple of years."

"Are you from Atlanta?"

"No…I'm from Savannah originally. I came to Atlanta when I was 18, right after high school, to pursue my singing career."

"Which was, what, a year ago?" Tod asked, implying she didn't look very old.

Diane chuckled. "More like 10 years ago."

"Really? You seem to be doing pretty well, headlining at The King, pulling in a good crowd."

"Yeah, it's been…good," she said, not quite convincingly. "But I can't headline at a small jazz club in Atlanta forever though. Not if I'm ever going to make it to Vegas and be the next Mitzi Gaynor." She shrugged. "But I can't complain."

"Mitzi Gaynor," Tod said with a grin. "You dance?"

"I…used to. Small jazz club doesn't lend to a song and dance show."

"What about recording an album?"

"Oh I'd love to Tod," she said wistfully. "I'd love to make a record."

"Why haven't you?"

She looked at Tod and then lowered her gaze. She shrugged. "Just…hasn't happened."

Tod sensed there was a mixed bag behind her answer. He didn't press it though and instead offered an encouraging smile. "Well, I hope someday you do get to record an album. And make it to Vegas. And give Mitzi Gaynor a run for her money."

Diane gave a half smile. Tod picked up the check presenter and looked it over. He then figured up the tip amount in his head and added it to the check and totaled it.

"If you'll excuse me, Tod, I'm going to go to the powder room," Diane said, gathering up her purse and shawl. "I'll meet you outside."

"Sure…"

As Diane headed away from the table, she felt guilty and she cursed herself for it. This was business. This was the same set up she'd done dozens of times before to help rip off expensive cars from men who had been obnoxious, rude, over bearing and bragging about their business dealings, their exploits, their conquests and above all, themselves. Tod Stiles was none of these men. The freckle faced kid already had the rug pulled out from under him when he lost his father and the family fortune. Why add a slap in the face to it?

In the hallway to the rest rooms there was a payphone. Diane checked to make sure she was out of sight of Tod and then picked up the phone, dropped her dime in and dialed. Stuart answered after one ring.

"Hi," she said. "We're leaving now."

"Ok. Me n' the boys will be there waiting. Nice job."

"Yeah…"

Stuart noticed her tone was much different this time. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's just get this over with." She hung up. She paused as the change jingled in the payphone and she put her game face back on. She walked away from the phone and went to the ladies room.

A few minutes later, she returned to the entrance of the restaurant where Tod was waiting. She managed a smile as she hooked her arm with his and they walked out to the parking lot.

Once in his car, they drove back to her apartment. Tod pulled to the curb and shut the motor down. There was an awkward pause as Diane forced herself to play the game. "I had a nice time tonight," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Maybe…we can do this again?"

Diane nodded. "Yeah…" No, there would be no next time. "Listen, I'm sorry I wasn't very chatty tonight though."

Tod chuckled. "I think I more than made up for it."

Diane smiled and it was mostly genuine. But it only reminded her of the figurative knife she was about to stab into Tod's back. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately," she said. "It wasn't fair to you. Um, why don't you come up and let me fix you nightcap?"

Tod considered it a moment and then nodded. "Sure." He got out of the car and went around to open the passenger door for Diane. She went to hand him her shawl and a thread snagged on her diamond tennis bracelet, causing the clasp to release. The jewelry fell somewhere between the seat and the center console.

"Oh I just lost my bracelet…" She took Tod's hand and stepped out of the car. "That damn clasp, that's the second time that's happened to me this week."

"I'll see if I can find it…" Tod opened the glove box and took out a flashlight. He shined the light around the floor but the batteries were weakening. He felt around under the seat but wasn't finding anything. "It probably went down between the seat and the console," he said. He clicked the fading light off and returned it to the glove box. He closed the passenger door and turned to Diane.

"I'll find it for you tomorrow, I'll bring it to the club."

"Ok. Thanks, Tod. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't be. I'd be coming to see you perform anyway." He smiled and took her gently by the arm and they walked to the front door of her apartment building.

Parked across the street, Stuart and two other men watched from a pickup truck. Once the front door of the building closed, Stuart paused for only a few beats before moving. "Let's go…" The three men exited the truck and moved quickly across the street. Stuart and one of the men went to the car while the third man went up the block to act as a lookout.

Stuart pulled the door latch first, on the off chance the car was unlocked. It wasn't.

The other man held up a baseball bat. "Stand back, I'll bust it open for ya."

"No," Stuart said. "Give me that slim jim."

"Oh not that stupid thing." The man put his baseball bat down and pulled the thin metal tool out of the duffle bag he was carrying. He handed it to Stuart.

"Beats a wire coat hanger," Stuart said. He slipped the thin metal in between the window and the door, near the door lock.

"Which doesn't beat a brick. The time you spend dickering with that thing is time wasted."

"But not money wasted. If we bust the window, Donnie, then we have to replace it and that eats into the profit."

"How many cars you boosted with that thing?" Donnie asked.

"Three so far. It takes some practice. The more I use it the faster I'm going to get with it. Now shut up and let me work this thing…"

Up in Diane's apartment, Tod casually wandered around the living room, noting the books on the bookshelf and the furnishings. The lighting was warm and the place was nice, upscale, about what he would have expected for her. Diane was in the corner, at her mini bar, preparing two drinks. She then brought the drinks around from the bar. "Here we go…" she said. She met Tod half way across the living room and handed a glass to him.

"Thank you."

She smiled. "My pleasure. Here, sit down…" She gestured to her sofa and the two of them sat down.

Down on the street, the third man who was acting as lookout, gave a shrill whistle. A car was coming upon the intersection. Stuart slipped the slim jim out of the door and he and Donnie hurried away from the car and on to the side walk, appearing like they were just walking along.

The car passed them and turned down another street. Stuart and Donnie spun around and went back to the Corvette.

"Forget that thing," Donnie said, grabbing Stuart's hand that held the slim jim. "Let's just bust the window and get out of here."

"You don't care much for expense do you?"

"I don't care to get caught." He directed Stuart to stand aside and winded up with the baseball bat. In one quick, brutal swing, the window smashed. Donnie knocked some of the jagged glass away and reached in, unlocking the door. He opened it and Stuart stepped forward, tossing the slim jim on to the passenger seat and then brushing the shards of glass off the driver seat. He then crouched to reach under the dash to hot wire the car.

The car was started and running in short order. "Ok, go!" Stuart said, getting behind the wheel. Donnie signaled to the third man and turned to return to the pickup truck. Stuart closed the door of the Corvette and pulled away from the curb in a hurry. A moment later the pickup truck swung around and followed.

It was about thirty minutes later when Tod finished his drink and bid goodnight to Diane, leaving her with a kiss on the hand. After he left, Diane went to her window and looked down to the street below. She could see where the Corvette had been parked, and the tiny sparkles of glass that remained on the street. A few moments later, she saw Tod walk up the sidewalk and then slow when he reached the spot. There was the slump of shoulders and the disbelieving look up one end of the street and down the other. He spotted the broken glass and squatted down to check it before straightening up again and turning back to the apartment building.

Diane could have timed it, having done this routine a few times now. She moved away from her window and stood in the middle of the apartment, anticipating his return and pushing the guilty feeling aside. She was ready when he knocked.

What she wasn't ready for was the devastated look on his face when she opened the door.

"I need to use your phone," he said. "Somebody stole my car…"

"Oh Tod…" she opened the door and let him in. "I'm so sorry…"

It was a couple hours later when Tod finally returned to the boarding house in a cab. He paid the cab fare and told the driver to keep the change. He exited the cab and headed up the stairs to the porch of the house, his steps slow and exhausted.

The theft of the Corvette felt like a piece of himself had been stolen too. He tried to remind himself as he entered the house that it was a just a car, but the problem with that was for him, it _wasn't_ just a car. It was the last connection he had to his father, somebody taken much too soon from Tod's young life.

Upstairs, Tod tried to open the old wooden door of the room he shared with Buz quietly but the heat of the Atlanta summer made that impossible. Even at 2 a.m., it was muggy enough for the door and frame both to protest at being opened, answering back with a crack.

The noise rustled Buz from his sleep. He listened, hearing the old floor creak at Tod's arrival and the door was shut again. A moment later the small lamp on the table on Tod's side of the room was clicked on, giving enough light to Tod to maneuver around without disturbing his buddy's sleep. If Buz had still been asleep.

Buz opened his eyes and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand, seeing it was after 2 a.m. He grinned and turned over to look at Tod.

"You're past your curfew, junior."

Tod was sitting on his bed, removing his shoes. He sighed and looked back at Buz, who was topless under the sheet and had a big grin on his face.

Tod shook his head. "I wish it was for a good reason."

Buz's smile faded. "What happened?"

"The car was stolen." Tod stood up, slipping his sport coat off and loosening his tie. "I've spent the past couple hours at the police station."

"Stolen?" Buz sat up. "When?"

"Sometime while I was at Diane's place for a nightcap. Whoever it was they brute force took it, there was broken glass all over the road."

Buz frowned and watched Tod head for the washroom, seeing his buddy's defeated posture. He knew how much that car meant to him. "Tod, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Tod answered from the washroom. "Hey, it's just a car right?"

"Wrong. At least, not for you it's not just a car. I know that."

"Yeah. That's what I get for being a sentimental slob."

"What'd the cops say? They have any ideas?"

"What do you think?"

Buz nodded to himself. He figured as much. "Yeah, I hear ya," he said. "So what are we going to do?"

"We'll have to get another car. We can take a cab to the railyard for now but we gotta have wheels."

Buz nodded. "Ok. We got enough?"

"Yeah." Tod gave a snort. "As long as it's inexpensive. Maybe we can finance something, not take a big chunk out of what we've saved up."

"Yeah…"

There was a long pause as Tod finished changing into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and then reemerged from the bathroom again. He was too wound up to sleep so instead he took a cigarette from the pack off his nightstand and lit up.

Buz watched him. "Well, besides the car, how was your date with the lovely Miss Lovely?"

Tod shrugged. "Ok." He carried the ashtray over to the chair by the open window putting it down on the sill and sitting down. "Turns out Lovely is a stage name. Her real name is Diane Svenson."

"The date was 'ok'? That's it?"

Tod took a drag and shook his head. "She's a nice girl, she just seemed preoccupied by something. I couldn't really get her to talk much."

"And you rambled on."

Tod snorted. "Yeah…" He gazed out the window to the darkened neighborhood.

 _And he likes her. A lot._ Buz could tell. The stolen Corvette weighed on his buddy's mind, but obviously there was a part of him pondering the possibilities with Diane. Tod didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Buz knew. And he let his buddy have the silence of the night to ponder the thoughts.


	3. Yours for a Steal

At Mrs. Gebhardt's breakfast table the next morning, Buz no more than polished off one plate of pancakes when she added two more fresh and hot ones to his plate.

"Mrs. Gebhardt," he said. "You're going to make us fat."

"You boys are too thin as it is. All that driving all around you been doing all over the country that you've told me about. When's the last time you had a good hearty breakfast?"

"Yesterday," Tod said with a grin.

"And you'll get one tomorrow too!" She looked at Tod's plate, which was only half finished. "You work hard at the freight yard, you have to eat well so you can get through the day. Now don't sass me, you eat!"

"Yes, ma'am," Tod replied. "Mrs. Gebhardt, do you have a phone directory?"

"Yes. Who do you need to call?"

"We have to call a cab. My car was stolen last night."

"You're pretty blue car?!"

Tod nodded.

"Oh that's awful. This city, I swear it's getting worse every day…" Mrs. Gebhardt left the kitchen and returned a few moments later with the Atlanta phone directory and she handed it to Tod.

"Thank you," he said. He opened it up.

"You finish breakfast first, then you tend to business."

"Sorry, I'm just not very hungry this morning."

She took the phone directory away. "You eat. Then you make your call."

Tod sighed. "Yes, ma'am." He picked up his fork and started poking at his scrambled eggs again.

Buz grinned.

Mrs. Gebhardt put the directory on the kitchen counter. "Now what are you boys going to do for a car? You can't take cabs all the time."

Buz waved his fork at Tod, indicating he should continue to eat. "We figure Saturday we'll go look for another car," Buz answered.

"Will you get the same as what you had?" she asked hopefully.

Buz shook his head. "I'm afraid we can't afford another car like that."

"No? Aww…" Mrs. Gebhardt paused, wondering something but she held back on voicing it.

Tod caught her expression. "How'd we ever afford that one?"

She nodded. "I know it's an expensive car, I see it in the magazines."

"My father gave it to me," Tod said.

"Your father…has lots of money?"

Tod shook his head and lowered his gaze, poking at the breakfast he wasn't really hungry for. "Not anymore. He passed away…"

"Oh dear. No wonder you don't have much appetite. That car was special to you. Your father."

Tod nodded. "Yeah…"

"I'm sorry. If I could snap my fingers and bring that car back for you, I would do so right now. Instead the best I can do is let you boys use my car Saturday morning when you go looking for another one. I only ask that you have it back by 1 o'clock so I can go to the market."

Tod and Buz glanced at each other and Buz gave a nod. "We appreciate that, Mrs. Gebhardt," he said. "Thank you."

She nodded. "Good. Now you boys finish your breakfast and call for your cab, don't be late."

While Tod and Buz ate breakfast, the Corvette sat in a warehouse near the Mechanicsville section of Atlanta. By mid-morning, the broken window was replaced, the ignition cylinder was changed to allow for new keys and a few minor mechanical fixes were taken care of. The car was then washed, waxed, buffed and cleaned, ready to be sold.

After overseeing the prep of the car personally, Stuart went to The King around noon time to report to Doyle.

"The Corvette's all set. The boys should be finishing up cleaning it this morning."

"Good. Any problems getting it?'

Stuart made a face. "Eh, we had to bust the window."

"I thought your newfangled tool was supposed to avoid that?"

"It does, but Donnie gets impatient. It's fixed though."

Silas nodded. "How many miles on it?"

"Almost 65,000."

" _How_ many?"

Stuart nodded. "Sixty-five thousand."

"What year is it?"

"Sixty. It's in great shape, well cared for. Monty checkedeverything over, changed the oil in it and replaced a couple of the belts. He did notice the tie rod on the steering in front looks to be a handmade job."

"Handmade?"

"Yeah. Whoever did it did a good job, the thing's solid and the steering is very responsive. You wouldn't know it wasn't a true replacement part."

"Well, we don't need to worry about disclosing any of that to a buyer. But that odometer might scare them off. Tell Monty to roll it back. Nobody likes high mileage cars that are only 2 years old."

Stuart nodded. "Will do. Oh, there's one more thing…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond tennis bracelet.

Silas raised an eyebrow. "Bonus?"

Stuart shook his head. "Diane's. It was found in the car." He paused.

Silas noted the hesitation and looked at his subordinate. "Women lose their jewelry often," he said.

"Yeah, but I'm afraid Diane's losing her nerve. There was something about this set up that seemed to bug her. I think she genuinely likes the guy."

"She should know better," Silas said. "We can't afford to have her get sweet on any target. You take the bracelet back to her and make sure she understands that."

Stuart nodded and pocketed the bracelet. He then grabbed a starlight mint and left the office.

Later that afternoon, before the club opened for its usual trade, Diane walked through the lounge toward the stage where her piano player, Charlie, was setting up.

"Charlie," she said, handing a piece of paper to him. "I'd like to do these songs tonight."

Charlie took the list and looked at it. He nodded. "Ok," he said. "Looks like a good set."

"Thanks, Charlie." Diane headed backstage to get ready.

She was halfway through applying her makeup when she looked in her mirror and saw Stuart standing in the door way. She said nothing and he stepped in wordlessly. He pulled another chair up to her, turning it so to rest his forearms on the chair back. He held the bracelet up.

Diane looked at it. "Where'd you find that?"

"It was in the car, under the seat." He studied her a moment. "You got a little sloppy with this one."

She took the bracelet and tossed it on the vanity, avoiding his gaze.

"What happened?" he pressed. "Don't tell me this kid got to you?"

"What do you want? I'm not a professional."

"You were, once. Nothing about any of the targets before ever got to you. We got a good thing going here when we need it. C'mon, what's with this guy?"

"Look, the job is done and you don't really care anyway so why are you asking?"

"Because I want to make sure you're not going to be sloppy on the next job. I don't want this to become a habit. Sentimentality is nice in a song but it really doesn't look that good on you sweetheart."

"Don't worry," she said. "I won't be sloppy on the next one." She turned back to her vanity and picked up a makeup brush. She looked at Stuart in the mirror, who remained in his chair looking at her.

"I won't," she said. "Now will you get out of here please?"

"I just want to be sure we understand each other. Because you know Silas _doesn't_ like slip ups."

Diane said nothing. Stuart got up from the chair and left the dressing room.

Saturday morning, Mrs. Gebhardt handed the key to her car to Tod and the two friends drove the black 1949 Chevy Deluxe sedan to the west side of Atlanta where several auto dealerships were located. They checked out a couple of dealers, one a big dealership where the salesman was on them like a bad smell the minute they pulled into the parking lot, and then a smaller, one-man used auto lot where the owner apparently didn't care one way or the other if he a sold a car that day.

Discouragement was already creeping in when they pulled into the small lot of Jepson Auto Sales. Tod pulled the Deluxe up next to a dark blue two-door 1960 Bel Air. The price on the window was $1500.00. The two stepped from the Deluxe and paused to look at the Bel Air for a moment.

"Not a bad deal," Tod said.

Buz walked the length of the car, looking at it. "Well, it's a two-door at least."

"We wouldn't know what to do with four doors."

Buz grinned.

"C'mon," Tod said, smiling. "Let's see what else they have."

Inside the office a young dark haired girl of about 20 watched the two as they walked through the lot. Maggie Jepson smiled and turned from the window to the older man sitting at the desk, who was finishing up on a phone call.

Harold Jepson looked aged beyond his fifty years. "….will you take a partial payment? I can bring $200 Monday and have the rest by the end of the week…" He listened and then closed his eyes and breathed a sigh in relief. "Oh thank you, Stan. Thank you very much." He hung up, looking relieved but tired of dodging financial bullets.

"Papa," Maggie said. "There are two boys in the lot, looking around."

"Oh good. We'll give them a couple of minutes. If I can sell one car today, Maggie, one car, we can make the payment to the bank on the floor plan loan before the end of the week and I got Stan over at the parts depot to accept a partial payment on Monday."

"That's good, Papa. We'll sell more than one car today, I'm sure of it!"

"Maggie, we haven't sold a car in two weeks. This is the worst it's been since Doyle opened his third dealership down the street." Harold Jepson shook his head. "I've lost my best salesman, I'm down to one mechanic. If things keep going like this we may not make it to the end of the year…" He stood up from the desk and straightened his necktie, preparing to go talk to his potential customers.

Maggie looked at her father sympathetically. Hard as she tried to be a cheerleader, she knew business was bad and she had watched for the past year as the strain began to affect her father. Every day she cursed Silas Doyle and his brand new shiny dealership that was less than half a mile down the street. What did he need three dealerships for anyway?

Harold Jepson stepped out of the office and on to the sales lot. He spotted Tod and Buz at the end of it, looking over a couple of sedans and he approached.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Harold said, offering a smile and a handshake. "I'm Harold Jepson."

"Good morning," Tod said, guardedly. He shook hands out of civility. He and Buz had been pestered by one pushy salesman already that morning and neither of them were looking forward to having to deal with another.

Harold Jepson had been selling cars long enough that he detected the defenses. He maintained his smile and extended a handshake to Buz as well and found the same cordial, but cautious, response.

"See anything you boys like? Although I would hope two young fellas like yourself would want something a little sportier than this old wagon?" Harold pointed to the 1955 Chevy wagon they were standing near.

"Afraid we can't afford anything sporty," Buz said.

Tod nodded. "We were mostly looking at what you had for sedans. We did see a nice Bel Air where we drove in."

Harold turned to look where the Bel Air was parked. "Ah yes, that one is clean with low mileage. I could see either one of you in that car…" The three walked back to the Bel Air.

Maggie watched from the office window as the three stood by the car and looked to be negotiating. She saw the tall blond take a folded paper from his pocket and show it to her father. The car dealer shook his head.

"I can't do $1200," he admitted. "Thirteen-fifty is the lowest I can go. Believe me, I want to sell you this car, but I can't afford the loss."

Tod nodded. "Appreciate your honesty Mr. Jepson. Buz and I are on a pretty tight budget unfortunately."

"I understand. I do have a financing option $250 down, 3.99% for up to 3 years or longer if ya need."

"Thing is," Buz said, "Tod and I don't know how long we're going to stay in Atlanta."

"If we finance anything, it'll be short term," Tod said.

"I can do short term," Jepson said. "With or without a bigger down payment."

"It'd be bigger," Tod said. "Tell you what, Buz and I are gonna go look at this other car that's advertised at Doyle's. Who knows, we may get there and it's already been sold. If that's the case, we'll be back."

Harold smiled, masking his disappointment. Even if the advertised car was already sold he figured Doyle would get these boys to buy something else in their price range. Odds were slim he'd see them again. "Ok," he said and offered a parting handshake. "Hopefully I'll see you boys back here soon."

When Tod and Buz rolled into Doyle Chevrolet, they were greeted by a huge sales lot, lines of shiny new cars, a big modern building with large glassed in showroom and the words DOYLE CHEVROLET emblazoned across the roofline. Tod guided the Deluxe past the show room, the aging Chevy catching the attention of a salesman who watched with interest through the window to see where the Deluxe went.

Tod drove to the end of the lot and slowed to turn around when Buz suddenly pointed. "Tod, _look_ …"

There, parked facing the other street, were five Corvettes with one distinctly familiar blue colored tail end showing. The single tail lights on each side distinguished it from the other four cars that all sported the four tail lights of the models that came after 1960. Tod turned the Deluxe and pulled up to the line of 'vettes.

The two got out of the car and looked over the Corvette. Buz pointed to a spot on the rear deck lid, near the luggage rack, where a faint scratch could be seen. Tod's car had a scratch in the same location that had been caused by the luggage strap they used to keep their suitcases and sleeping bags secure.

"Can't be…" Tod said. He moved to look at the interior, easily visible with the top down. Everything was cleaned and polished but was the exact same as his car. He checked the mileage and found it only read 5832.

Tod opened the door and rolled up the window. It was new. Brand new glass, he could tell, as the window on his car had picked up a couple of scratches along the way. He closed the door, leaving the window up and looked Buz standing on the other side of the car. "Buz, I don't believe this…"

Buz looked in the interior too, at the passenger side that he was more intimate with. Everything was cleaned and polished but the few nick marks that the car had picked up in the past year and a half still showed. He then leaned in and looked at the odometer. "The mileage is wrong…"

"Odometers can be rolled back," Tod said. "Just like scratches can be buffed out, and windows can be replaced."

"You got your key?"

Tod dug into his pocket and took out his keys that he still carried out of habit. He opened the door again and sat in the car, trying his key in the ignition. It went in but didn't turn.

"Ignition cylinders can be replaced…" Buz said.

Tod took his key back out, stepped out of the car and went to the trunk, using the other key to try to open it. It didn't work but neither Tod nor Buz were convinced that the car wasn't what they thought it was.

Suddenly, Tod thought of something. "The steering," he said. "The tie rod." He rushed to the front of the car as Buz recalled the handmade tie rod that a blacksmith in Mississippi had made for them when they wrecked the original trying to go over a small dilapidated bridge. That would certainly be recognizable.

"Good morning!"

Buz turned, startled and looked at the approaching salesman. "Oh, uh, good morning."

The salesman had a bright smile on his face. "I see you fellas found something that caught your eye."

"Oh yeah, sure did…" Buz said. He forced a smile but kept glancing to the front of the car where Tod had disappeared to check underneath.

"Uh, what's your friend doing?"

"He's checking the tie rod on the steering."

"The tie rod?" the salesman chuckled. "Well, I'll admit that's unusual. Most people usually just kick the tires."

Buz looked to the front again and Tod reemerged from underneath the car. He nodded grimly to Buz as he brushed his hands off. "Well, this is an unusual car," Buz said, looking at the salesman now. "Because it was stolen. From him." He pointed at Tod.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This car is mine," Tod said. "It was stolen Wednesday night."

"Stolen? What are you two talking about? This car's been here for two weeks."

"The car was stolen, mister, and we can prove it," Tod said.

"You got documents for it?"

"Not on me," Tod said. "But the tie rod on this car was hand forged by a blacksmith in Mississippi. It's a pretty unique piece of craftsmanship. You can replace a broken window and buff out some of the scratches but you didn't replace the tie rod."

"Handmade tie rod, this is nonsense! This car is documented, it was traded in two weeks ago by a fella who bought a new one. You come back to the showroom right now and I'll show you and then I want you two off this lot!" The salesman spun around and marched off back to the showroom.

Buz started after him, if to do nothing more than spin the man around and make him listen. Tod hurried around the Corvette and stopped his friend.

"Documents can be _forged_ ," Buz said.

"I know," Tod said. "Let's see what he's got and then we'll go to the police."

The two climbed into the Deluxe and drove back to the show room.

When they go there, the salesman slapped papers down on the desk. "There! See for yourself. All signed and documented and in proper order. And the mechanic's notes don't say anything about the tie rod being different."

Tod and Buz each looked at documents, Tod holding what he knew was a forged Georgia state title in his hand and he was quietly seething. Meantime, another salesman came over to see what the commotion was.

"Problem Jeff?"

"These two sidewinders here claim that '60 Corvette that was traded in two weeks ago is a stolen car that was stolen just a couple of days ago. Utter nonsense!"

"That's a serious accusation," the other salesman said, looking at the two. "Have you any proof?"

Buz tossed the dealers invoice on to the desk and was about to speak when Jeff answered. "Oh they gave some cockamamie story about the tie rod being some handmade jobber." Jeff plucked the title document out of Tod's hand. "A lot of people try a lot of tricks and I thought I'd heard them all but you two take the prize. Now get out of here."

"We'll leave but we'll be back," Tod said. " _With_ the police."

"Fine," Jeff said. "Bring your mother too if it'll make you feel better."

Tod and Buz both shot the salesman a look to kill but kept their tempers in check and turned, leaving the showroom. Jeff and the other salesman watched the two men return to their Chevy Deluxe and drive away.

"Of all the damned luck!" Jeff said.

"I'll go tell Monty to get the car off the lot and let Mr. Doyle know. Those two could be trouble."

At the police station, Tod and Buz got a lukewarm reaction from the officer when they made their report. The officer held a file folder that contained Tod's report of the Corvette being stolen, which included a copy of the Corvette's New York registration which had the VIN number, and he looked it over, appearing somewhat disinterested.

"So this car of yours that was stolen, y'all say it's at Doyle Chevrolet?" the officer asked.

"That's right," Tod said. "Parked along the side, facing the street."

"And it's definitely your car?"

"Absolutely. I'll bet when you check the VIN number on that car it'll match what's in the file there."

"Well, awright. I'll follow you fellas over there." Despite agreeing to go, the officer sounded like he had other things he could have been doing.

Back at the dealership, things went from bad to worse. When Tod and Buz walked in with the police officer, Jeff, the salesman, was all smiles.

"Well hello Frank!" Jeff said to the officer. "This is a surprise! How's that wagon running?"

"Oh it's running great, Mr. Fields, the wife really likes it."

"Yeah? Good, good, glad to hear it…"

Buz glanced at Tod and rolled his eyes. He turned away from the display. There was no way this was going to go well.

"What can I do for ya?" Jeff asked, glancing at Tod and Buz like he had no idea what any of this was about.

"Well, it seems these boys were here a little while ago and they say you have this fella's stolen car on your lot."

Buz turned back around just as Jeff frowned at him and Tod. "I've never seen these two before, Frank."

"That's a lie!" Buz said "We were here and you got a blue 1960 Corvette on the north side of your lot that belongs to my buddy here."

"Well, I've got a few Corvettes over there but I don't have a sixty," Jeff replied calmly. "You sure you got the right dealership?"

"Oh we got the right dealership," Tod said evenly. He looked at the officer. "We were here, officer, and Mr. Fields here has seen us. He's lying because the car is a stolen vehicle and he knows it."

"Gentlemen, I don't have a '60 Corvette on the lot," Jeff said. "Look, we can go out and take a look if you like."

The officer nodded. "Let's go have a look."

"It's not going to be there," Buz muttered to Tod. The four headed out of the showroom and to the lot.

At the north end of the lot, Tod and Buz saw exactly what they were expecting. Only four Corvettes were parked there now. Tod's blue one that had been in the middle was gone and the four remaining cars had been repositioned for the display.

"There you are," Jeff said with a sweep of his hand. "Those are the only Corvettes I've got, all sixty-twos."

"The car's been moved, officer," Tod said.

"Maybe," the officer said. "But as it is, there's no car here now and Mr. Fields has said he's never seen you before. Now I'm sorry your car got stolen and all, but I ain't sure what you two are up to with trying to accuse a respectable car dealership of selling stolen vehicles. Unless you can prove any of such a ridiculous accusation, I suggest you boys find something else to occupy yourselves with and stop wasting other people's time."

"Did you get a good deal on your car, officer?" Buz asked.

The officer raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying something?"

"Am I? I was just curious…"

"If you boys are done," Jeff said, "you can go now. On your own. Or I can have the nice officer here escort you off the lot."

"That a threat?" Tod asked.

"I reckon you boys can take that however you want," Jeff said.

Buz stepped up to the officer and looked at the badge.

"What are you looking at?" the officer barked.

"Your badge," Buz said.

"Why? You want the number?"

Buz looked from the badge to the officer. "Oh I got the number. And apparently, so do you…" He then backed away and walked with Tod back to where the Deluxe was parked.

They climbed into the Chevy, both of them slamming doors. Tod's usually youthful expression was hard with anger. Buz put an arm up on the door panel and had a hand to his face briefly then balling it into a fist, edgy with frustration.

"We go back to see Mr. Jepson," Tod said. "Take that Bel Air."

Buz nodded. "I'm ok with that." He looked at his buddy. "Then we find out where the Corvette is?"

"You got it. And I'm not leaving Atlanta until we do."

"I'm with you. Let's go."

Tod started the Deluxe and the sedan lurched forward as Tod expressed some of his anger through the throttle. Tod simmered once on the road remembering he was driving somebody else's car.

Maggie Jepson was out in the lot, fixing the multi colored antenna pennants on the cars that faced the road when she spotted Tod and Buz returning in the '49 Deluxe. She hurried across the lot to the garage as the boys were pulling in.

"Papa!" she called, going in through the garage to the office. "Papa, those boys from this morning, they're back!"

Harold Jepson turned from his filing cabinet to look at his daughter and then caught sight through the window of the Deluxe pulling up to the office.

"I don't believe it!" he smiled and slammed the cabinet drawer closed loudly, unable to help himself. Nobody who went on to Doyle Chevrolet _ever_ came back a second time to his lot.

Tod and Buz climbed out of the Deluxe and came into the office.

"You fellas came back!" Jepson said.

Tod gave a half smile, still burned up over discovering his Corvette on Doyle's sales lot. "Yes, sir, we're back."

"Don't tell me the Bel Air they were advertising sold and they couldn't interest you in another car?"

"We never quite got that far," Buz said. "You might say we were a bit overwhelmed by the inventory."

"Oh?" Jepson didn't quite follow and he sensed the boys seemed tense. Before he could ask Buz to explain, Tod kept things on business.

"Mr. Jepson, we'd like to take that Bel Air you have for $1,350."

Jepson blinked, not believing what he'd just heard. "Absolutely! Of course, uh, but don't you fellas want to test drive It first? I mean, the car runs great but…"

"I'm afraid we don't have time to test drive it right now," Tod said, "we have to get the car we're driving now back to a very nice lady who let us borrow it this morning."

"Well, how about this – Maggie, go get the keys for the blue Bel Air, you know where they are…"

Maggie nodded and went to get the keys.

"…how about you boys take it now, test drive it, take your other car back and come back this afternoon and we'll draw up papers. You boys talked about financing before…?"

"Yeah," Tod said. He seemed anxious to leave, however. "Yeah, we did…we don't know how much, we got take some time to work up some figures…"

Not only were they tense, they were rattled by something. "Well, tell you what, I'll do up a few scenarios and we'll talk about when you come back ok?"

Tod glanced at Buz, who nodded in agreement. "Yeah, ok."

"Awright." Maggie returned with the keys and she handed them to her father. He then held them out to Tod but maintained his hold when the blond young man tried to take them. Tod met Jepson's gaze and the car salesman was serious. "Then I want you to tell me why didn't buy a car from Doyle Chevrolet…"

Buz drove the Deluxe back to Mrs. Gebhardt's boarding house with Tod following in the new Bel Air. Buz parked the older Chevy back in the driveway while Tod parked along the street. The boys went inside and Buz returned the key to Mrs. Gebhardt.

"You found a car?" Mrs. Gebhardt said. "Oh, that's wonderful! Let me see…" She followed the boys out the front door and Buz made a sweeping "ta-da!" motion with his hand.

"Oh my… very nice!" She approached the car closer. "Such a handsome color," she said. She looked at Tod. "Do you like it?"

Tod nodded. "Yeah, it's nice."

"But it's not your Corvette."

Tod's expression clouded. "No, ma'am it's not."

"Well, I'm glad you found one," she said and smiled. "Are you boys running off somewhere now?"

"Tod has to crunch the numbers," Buz said. "Then we're going back to sign the papers and everything. We wanted to get your car back to you before 1 o'clock."

Mrs. Gebhardt smiled. "You're good boys, thank you."

"Thank _you_ , Mrs. Gebhardt," Tod said, "for letting us use your car."

At The King, Silas Doyle was getting the bad news.

"I didn't say to put it on the lot! Who the hell put it on the lot?!" he exclaimed to Stuart. He then waved his hand about. "Never mind, where is it now?"

"It's back in the warehouse over on Bluff Street."

"Leave it there for now. I may have a buyer for it by the time of the race in two weeks, we can ship it out of here."

"What about Stiles and Murdock? They went to the police."

"They didn't get far. Lieutenant Fredericks assures me everything is under control. Just the same, these two may need to be clipped if they start poking around, trying to find that car." Silas paused. "It's on Bluff Street?"

"Yeah."

Silas smiled. "Good. Even if those boys ever figure out where it is, they won't dare go trying to get it out of there. Tell Diane I want to see her. If those two come back to the club that may be our only chance to clip them."

Stuart nodded and left the office.

After Tod ran the numbers based on what they had saved, the boys returned to Jepson's car lot. Mr. Jepson had worked up a couple of financing scenarios for them and they agreed to one. Tod called the bank he and Buz used, which was located in Denver, to wire the money for the down payment to Mr. Jepson's auto sales account at a bank in Atlanta. Tod and Buz then signed the various papers to close the deal.

"You boys have no idea how happy I was to see you come back, even more so that y'all bought this car," Mr. Jepson said as he straightened the papers. He then put them aside and looked at the boys. "Now… I want to know why you didn't buy a car at Doyle Chevrolet. Because nobody who leaves my sales lot here and goes there, _ever_ comes back. But you did."

Tod and Buz exchanged a look. "Well, Mr. Jepson you might find this incredible to believe…" Tod started, "but my car was stolen Wednesday night. This morning Buz and I found it on the lot at Doyle Chevrolet."

Jepson was stunned but there was also an "ah ha" expression mixed in. Silas Doyle's more colorful background, what was known of it, seemed to lend credence to such an act and Jepson himself had speculated about it for years. "You're right," he said, "that is incredible. Did you say something?"

"Oh yeah, we said something. But the salesman had all kinds of documents claiming the car had been on their lot for two weeks."

"Are you sure it was your car?"

"It's mine. We left and went back with a cop, for all the good that did. The car was gone and the salesman denied ever seeing us."

"That explains why you were so rattled when you came back here. What kind of car is it?"

"Corvette."

Jepson nodded. "That would makes sense."

"What do you mean?" Buz asked. "Does Doyle sell stolen cars from his dealerships?"

"Let me put it this way; nobody has ever accused Silas Doyle of selling stolen cars at any of his dealerships. But there's a part of me that would not be surprised if he did."

"What makes you say that?" Buz asked.

Jepson paused thoughtfully. "Silas Doyle is an ex-moonshine driver. He's bragged about that over the years. He's also boasted, in private conversations held at public functions, that he used to steal cars in his youth. He's big into auto racing, he's big into cars in general but he has an affection for sports cars and high end cars, cars like your Corvette. He has three dealerships here in Atlanta, the one you boys went to down the street there only opened a year ago. Now, I admit I have no love lost for the man because he's going to push me out of business before too long here. But if you were to talk to any other car dealers around Atlanta, you'd get a similar story."

"He's never been caught or tied to any stolen cars?" Tod asked.

"No. His public image is sterling. He's Mr. Chamber of Commerce. Hobnobs with politicians, celebrities and people with money. Just last month I saw his name in the sports pages that he's trying to get in to NASCAR, sponsoring a car. There was an article just before the Atlanta 500 that he was apparently in negotiations to sponsor Lee Petty's son, Richard, and some other young driver by the name of Yarborough next season."

"Sounds like a real charmer," Buz said.

"Oh he is. He's as smooth as they come. "

"What kind of auto racing does he dig?" Buz asked.

"Stock car, NASCAR type racing. He sponsors an amateur event called the Skull Cracker 125. That's being held in a couple of weeks."

Buz chuckled. "Skull Cracker?"

"It's a slang term for moonshine."

"Oh. I thought maybe it was a demolition derby."

"Sometimes it is," Jepson said. "I've heard it can be a rough race."

A little later, Tod and Buz left Jepson's sales office and returned to their new Bel Air.

"Wait," Buz said before Tod started the car. "You're the lead foot. What's the difference between the stock car racing they do here and the Formula One racing you did in California?"

Tod snorted. "Everything."

"Do you think you could do it?"

"Why?"

"Because I think we should let Mr. Silas Doyle know that we're not going away so quietly. You heard what Mr. Jepson said about him. I think Doyle's the connection to finding the Corvette."

"Yeah… but, how are we going to snoop around to find the Corvette while trying to keep this car from being wrecked on the track?"

Buz grinned. "You worry about the driving. I'll worry about the snooping."

Tod and Buz drove twenty miles south of Atlanta to Hampton, Georgia where Atlanta International Raceway was located. The 1.5 mile oval was only two years old but was not quite the facility Tod was expecting to see. The track was paved and had sufficient grandstands to hold upwards of 55,000 people at least, but the front row seats of the grandstand actually sat _below_ the retaining wall, making it nearly impossible for any race fans who were unfortunate enough to get those seats to actually see the race.

That wasn't even the worse. The track's main office was located in the infield, which was where the restroom facilities were also located. "Facilities" mostly consisting of, literally, outhouses with a hole in the ground.

The track had been plagued by insufficient funding, bad weather during construction starting in 1958, an ever changing list of investors in the project and then finally thrown together mere weeks before hosting its first race in July 1960. Apparently things were running about the same since.

There was activity in and around the track as Tod and Buz walked from the grandstands, across the track and to the infield. A couple of cars were zooming around the track, while the sound of tools clanging could be heard from the infield garage area.

Tod and Buz got the information they were looking for from a burly man who chomped on a cigar as he shuffled some papers. He was less than impressed with Tod's racing credentials, including Tod's third place finish in the US Grand Prix race at Riverside just over a year ago. He asked a few questions about Tod's car and nodded upon hearing it was a Bel Air. "Yeah, that's fine," he said. He handed Tod a short rules and regs sheet and a registration form for Doyle's Skull Cracker 125 race.

"Thanks," Tod said. "Listen, is there any set times for a test and tune or a chance I could take the car out on to the track for a shakedown run?"

"Test and tune is 4 to 6 this afternoon."

Tod nodded. "Thanks." He and Buz left the office.

As they walked through the infield, Tod looked over the papers.

"Hey, top prize money is $5000," he said.

"Nice bonus," Buz said.

"Yeah. _If_ I win. Find out this afternoon after I take the car out for a lap or two how much work we've got ahead of us."

"When's the race?"

"Two weeks from tomorrow."

"Will that be enough time to get the car ready?"

"It will be if we work on it every night."

"We? _Every_ night?"

"We. _Every_ night."

"Well, that puts a damper on the social calendar."

Tod grinned. "It was your idea."

"Yeah, I know." Buz nodded. "OK..."

"What makes you think we'll figure out anything from here anyway?"

"Well, if what Mr. Jepson said is all true it sounds like Silas Doyle never got out of the gangs. He's merely graduated and now has his own little empire going. He's gotta have a whole network of guys working for him to boost the cars. Odds are, some of them might be wandering around here to look legit. We may see or hear something. Or, after our display today at the dealership, somebody might see or hear us."

Tod slowed to a stop and casually looked around. If the idea of he and Buz having set themselves up as bait bothered him, it wasn't showing. He looked more like the idea kind of appealed to him.

Buz grinned. "Like I said, you worry about the driving, I'll worry about the snooping. You want the Vette back right?"

Tod looked at Buz and nodded, there being no doubt. "You know it."

"Don't I." Buz smiled. "You just be careful and keep the car on the track and don't wreck or the only other way we're gonna get out of Atlanta is to walk."

Tod gave a snort. "And go where? Back to New York?"

Buz shook his head. "No way." He patted Tod on the shoulder and the two continued on walking through the garage area.

They passed one garage stall with a '61 Impala in it. Stuart's car theft partner, Donnie, straightened up from under the hood of the white Chevy and wiped his hands on a rag. He stepped out of the stall and watched Tod and Buz as they continued on.


	4. Let 'em Race

At the King nightclub, Diane approached the closed door of Doyle's office, hesitating a moment before knocking.

Doyle called for his visitor to enter. He turned toward Diane as she came in and he smiled. "Ah, Diane…" He stepped to her and kissed her on the cheek. "You look stunning as always."

She gave him a small smile for thanks.

"You did very well the other night," he said, turning back to his desk. He picked up an envelope. "I couldn't do this without you, you know…" He turned back to her and handed the envelope to her.

She accepted it wordlessly.

He studied her a moment. "Stuart told me that you seemed to have a problem with this job though."

"No. No problem."

"Oh come now. You're an open book, Diane. Even I can read it. The young man got to you."

She gave a small shrug. "What of it? You got the car."

"Yes. Like I said, I couldn't do this without you."

"Is that all I'm good for around here? Bait? If I'm such an open book, how come you don't bother to read the other chapters?"

"Oh but I do," he said. "I know what you want, what you wish and desire more than anything. And I promise you, you'll have it. Record contracts, TV shows. Darling, you'll make us millions. But these things take time."

"How much time? How many more years? How many more cars do I have to help steal?"

Doyle leaned to her to kiss her and she turned away from him. He grabbed her face forcefully and turned her to face him.

The light was gone in his eyes. "Until I say when. Until I say _enough_. And until then, you'll continue to do as I say or else I will _break you_ …" He held her face a moment longer and then let her go. "Now…I have a job for you to do…"

After 4pm, Tod had the Bel Air out on the track. The V8 coup reached 80 miles an hour with ease and Tod pushed it further, watching the RPMs and the speedometer.

He had looked over the engine prior to the run and checked the plugs, lines and fluid levels. Otherwise, he changed nothing, figuring to establish a baseline and see how the car handled completely stock.

From the pit road wall, Buz watched the car and as the Bel Air was coming out of turn four, he saw Tod wave. Buz held the stop watch ready to clock as soon as Tod crossed the starting line.

Buz clicked the watch when the Bel Air passed. The Chevy eased into turn one and went up along the embankment, cruising around to the back stretch.

There were several cars on the track and most of them passed Tod easily enough. There was an audience of other drivers and crews and even a few people in the grandstands to watch. Buz wasn't the only one watching the blue Bel Air. Up in the stands a man in a suit and tie, with a fedora hat and wayfarer sunglasses was watching too.

Buz kept an eye on the Bel Air through the back stretch and then into turns three and four. As soon as the car hit the start/finish line, he clicked the stop watch. He scribbled the time down on the notepad.

Tod did a few more laps and Buz timed him on a couple more. Tod then brought the car in off the track and back into the garage area.

After he stepped from the car, Buz handed him the times that had been clocked. Tod made a face.

"Car seemed kind of poky out there," Buz said.

"It was. I could push a hundred but that's about it. If I'm going to keep up with the rest of the field, I'm going to have to do some work, see if I can get some more speed out of it."

"You're also going to need a roll cage," another voice said.

Tod and Buz looked to see Donnie standing by the back of the car. They didn't know him and at that moment at least, he wasn't sure of them. He looked the car over. "You got the wrong tires too."

"Yeah, we got a lot of work to do," Tod said. "We just bought the car this morning."

"I'm Donnie Gaulin." He put his hand out to Tod.

"Tod Stiles," Tod replied, shaking hands. "This is Buz Murdock."

Donnie nodded and shook hands with Buz. "You boys ever raced before?"

Buz pointed to Tod. "He has."

Donnie looked at Tod. "Where?"

"Up north and out west. Formula racing mostly. I'll admit the stock car racing is going to be different."

Donnie raised an eyebrow. "You've never raced stock cars before?"

Tod shook his head.

"And you're entering the Skull Cracker for your first race? You two guys gotta be crazy."

Buz grinned. "It's all about the experience."

If Donnie thought the two were crazy, Harold Jepson was just as surprised when Tod and Buz returned to his lot just before closing with a request.

"We were wondering if we could use one of your garage stalls to work on the car," Tod asked.

"What's wrong with the car? I can have Tommy look at it for you."

Tod shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with the car, except it's not fast enough to qualify for that race in two weeks."

"Race?"

"The Skull Cracker 125," Buz said with a grin. "Tod's gonna enter and try to blow everybody's doors off."

Jepson wasn't smiling. "That's not funny. You two have got to be kidding, that's no gentlemen's race."

"Well, we're not exactly feeling like gentlemen," Buz said. "Since this Doyle cat owns the car dealership we last saw the Vette at, and he sponsors this race, we figure it's a way for us to ask him for the car back. Gentlemanly, of course."

"Besides, top prize is $5000 if I win," Tod said.

" _If_ you win," Jepson said. "Even though it's advertised as an amateur race it's really not for amateurs! I've heard those boys can be rough."

"Tod's not exactly an amateur," Buz said. "And we're not looking to win anyway, just to get a line on Doyle and try to find the Corvette."

Jepson studied the two young men a moment and just shook his head. "I think you're crazy. But yeah, go ahead and use one of the stalls."

"Thanks. And we'll pay for parts," Tod said. "Buz and I will have to do most of the work at night, when we get off shift at the freight yard. Will that be a problem?"

Jepson shook his head. "Each stall door has a lock, I can leave the key with you. You can stay as late as you need."

Tod nodded. "Great. Thanks, Mr. Jepson."

At the King nightclub, Donnie eased through the lounge area, nearly full to capacity with a Saturday night crowd listening to Diane sing her songs. He found Stuart at a back table and sat down across from him.

Stuart kept his eyes on Diane until Donnie spoke.

"Tod Stiles has entered the Skull Cracker race."

The young car thief's attention was grabbed instantly. "What?"

Donnie nodded. "Stiles is running a car in the Skull Cracker."

"What car?"

"He's got a Bel Air. He and his buddy were at the track this afternoon. He ran a test run, completely stock."

"You sure it's Stiles?"

"It's him. I talked to him."

"He race before?"

"Yeah, open wheel racing out west."

Stuart paused in thought, taking a drink.

"These two already tried to cause trouble at the dealership," Donnie said. "It's no coincidence they're showing up now for the race."

"So? Let 'em race. I suspect these two are so far out of their league anyway. We'll keep an eye on them and take care of them when Silas says so." He put his hand up and waved a waitress over. "Now, why don't you order a drink and calm your nerves."

Back at the boarding house, as the sun was pulling a dark orange blanket over the early evening sky, Mrs. Gebhardt came to her front door and looked out onto her porch. Sitting in one of the wicker chairs, smoking a cigarette was Tod, who looked like he was in another world somewhere as he stared off into the dusk shadowed distance.

She opened the screen door and stepped out. "Tod?"

Broke from his thoughts, Tod looked her way and smiled. "Evening Mrs. Gebhardt."

"It is nice evening to be out here," she said. "Where's Buz?"

"Oh he's out gallivanting."

"You didn't go with him?"

"No. Didn't really feel like it after everything today."

"You should have gone. You need to have some fun."

"Yeah, that's what Buz said but…" Tod shook his head. "I just didn't feel like going. Besides, he's going to be spending the next several nights with me working on getting the car ready for a race, I suppose I can let him have a night off for himself."

"Race? What race? Your new car?"

Tod nodded. "There's an amateur race in a couple of weeks."

"What the devil you doing that for?"

Tod grinned. "Well, because I like to race and I've never done stock car racing. And the race is sponsored by the guy we think stole the Corvette."

Mrs. Gebhardt gasped. "What? You do? Who?"

"Silas Doyle. Ever heard of him?"

"Doyle… yes, I see his ads in the newspaper for his car dealerships. You think _he_ stole your car?"

"We think it was somebody who works for him, yeah. Buz and I didn't get the chance to tell you all what happened this morning when we went looking for a car…."

Tod told Mrs. Gebhardt about spotting the Corvette at Doyle's dealership and what happened when they confronted the salesman about the car, and then how the car was gone when they went back with a police officer in tow.

"Oh my," Mrs. Gebhardt said and shook her head. "That's terrible. And for that officer to not even believe you."

"Well, he could only believe what he could see at that point, but a little benefit of the doubt would have been nice." Tod paused to take a drag on his cigarette. "After that display this morning I don't think the Atlanta police are all that worried about finding my car anyway," he said.

"On the contrary Mr. Stiles," said a voice from the sidewalk in front of the house. "The Atlanta police department is very interested in getting your car back."

Tod and Mrs. Gebhardt looked toward the sidewalk and the man who had spoken stepped forward down the walkway to the porch. He was a thin man in a lightweight suit and a fedora hat. "I'm Captain David McGrath," he said as he came up the steps, digging into his suit jacket and removing his badge holder. He flipped it open for them to see.

Mrs. Gebhardt looked at Tod, whose expression was neutral.

"I couldn't help but overhear as I was coming up the sidewalk," McGrath continued, removing his hat, revealing a balding head, "that you think Silas Doyle had something to do with the theft of your vehicle."

Tod said nothing.

"I'm also aware of what happened this morning at Mr. Doyle's dealership. I read the report from Officer Frank O'Donnell. The car, of course, was not observed by him as being on the lot."

"It was on the lot," Tod said. "Buz and I saw it. It was gone by the time we went back with Officer O'Donnell."

McGrath nodded. "Yes, a very likely scenario."

"You don't believe me?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Stiles, I do believe you."

Tod should have been glad to hear that, but instead he just looked at the police captain with more suspicion.

"I do," McGrath said.

"Then where's my car?"

"That I don't know. But if you'll have some patience and allow the police to do their work, I think the odds are pretty good we'll recover your car."

The doubt was obvious in Tod's green eyes. He took a drag on his cigarette.

"I saw you at the track today," McGrath continued. "You race stock cars, Mr. Stiles?"

"I'm going to try it. Do you?"

McGrath smiled. "I was merely there as a spectator. You're entering Mr. Doyle's race?"

"I am."

"I've heard that's a rough race."

"Yeah, I've been told that too."

"Some guys have gotten hurt pretty bad in that race. Ended their race careers before they even had a chance to start them."

"Captain, is there something you want to tell me? Because the tap dancing is getting a little old."

McGrath's expression hardened a little. "Mr. Stiles, you and your friend are out of your league when it comes to Silas Doyle. If you think you're going to be able to get your car back on your own somehow, I strongly suggest that you abandon any such thoughts."

"Are you telling me this as an honest policeman or is this a second hand message from Doyle himself?"

McGrath bristled. "I am an honest policeman, Mr. Stiles, who is more aware of the situation than you are. For your own safety I'm advising you to not pursue trying to recover the car yourself. Let the Atlanta police department do it."

"I never said I was going to try to get the car back," Tod said and stood up from the wicker chair. "All I said was I'm entering an auto race that's sponsored by the guy that I think stole my car."

"Mr. Stiles, let's not fool ourselves. Why else would you enter into a competition for a class of auto racing that you've never done before?"

"For the challenge," Tod said and grinned. "See, I like a challenge, I like to try new things. That's what Buz and I do. And we never back down from a challenge either, Captain. So, I appreciate your concern about the risk with the race but I'm going to go ahead with it."

"You're a foolish young man, Mr. Stiles."

"Maybe. Good night, Captain." Tod turned and opened the front door, holding it for Mrs. Gebhardt allowing her to step back into the house ahead of him.

At the King nightclub, Buz was sitting at the bar watching Diane's show. He was thinking how Tod really should have been there, and that maybe seeing Diane would help cheer him up a bit.

Buz, nonetheless, was feeling pretty cheerful himself. He had spotted Vicky, the waitress he'd taken a bit of an interest in and when she stopped at the bar to load up on a tray of drinks, he hopped over to the bar stool nearest to her. Her back facing him, he tugged one of the pleats on her skirt.

She turned, with an expression that was ready to tell the offender to bug off but when she recognized Buz she broke into a grin. "Buz! Hey, how come you're not at a table?"

"It's just me tonight. All alone. By myself."

"Aww…"

"Sitting at the bar like some wretch, drowning my sorrows and dreaming of lovely ladies in blue."

She chuckled. "You are a wretch."

He smiled. "Hey, what time you get off? Maybe we can go for coffee or something."

"Buz I'd love to, but I can't. We're not supposed to fraternize with the customers."

"I won't tell anybody. I know a nice little out of the way place, real hole in the wall, nobody will know."

"I'd know," the bartender, Jerry, spoke up.

Buz looked at him. "Well, you don't have to tell anybody."

Jerry gestured with his finger to Vicky to take her tray and deliver her orders. Vicky gave Buz an apologetic smile and took her tray.

"C'mon," Buz said to Jerry. "How do you enforce a rule like that anyway? You keep tabs on all the girls?"

"You harass her anymore and I'll have you thrown out."

Buz blinked. "What? I'm not harassing her!"

"The girls don't fraternize with the customers, that's the rules. Remember it."

"Yeah, ok, I heard."

The bartender walked away to the other end of the bar and Buz turned to watch Diane's show some more. And watch Vicky when he could see her in the dimly lit lounge. Certainly they couldn't bounce him for looking could they?

A few minutes after she finished her show, Diane emerged from beyond the stage and came out by the bar.

Buz had been lucky enough to be on the right bar stool as she stood nearby graciously obliging a few autograph seekers from the crowd. Buz watched the scene while sipping his drink.

When the last autograph was signed, Diane turned to the bar and ordered a drink.

Buz smiled at her. "You're an enchantress on that stage you know."

She glanced at Buz and gave a polite smile. "Thank you."

"You are. You wield that old black magic over the whole room. Believe me, I know. You snagged me but you really did a number on my buddy, Tod."

Diane smiled again and then picked up her drink.

"I'm sorry Tod couldn't be here," Buz continued. "I tried to get him to come along but he wasn't up to it."

"Tod?"

Buz paused. "Tod Stiles. The fella that took you to dinner a couple nights ago?"

Diane looked at Buz, now recognizing him. "Oh. The one whose… car was stolen."

"Yeah, him." Buz studied Diane a moment and grinned. "Tod didn't leave much of an impression I take it?"

"I'm sorry, it's been busy this week. How is he? Did he hear anything about his car?"

Buz shook his head. "Nah. We picked up a new car this morning. But we're still going to try to get the Vette back."

Diane looked at him, suddenly. "What do you mean?"

The reaction surprised Buz and he only paused a beat before smiling. "What do I mean? I mean we're going to try to get the car back. We think we know who has it."

"Oh Buz, uh…" Diane hesitated on her words, suddenly careful. "Might that be…dangerous? Shouldn't you let the police handle that?"

"Hmm yeah the police," Buz said. "No offense to the Atlanta constabulary but Tod and I were less than impressed today."

"Today? What happened?"

"Well, this one dealership Tod and I went to, _there_ was Tod's car sitting on the lot."

"It was on _the lot_?"

"Yeah, can you believe that? We confronted the salesman, of course he had all kinds of papers and stuff phonyed up. We left and went back with a cop but by then the car was gone and the cop apparently was one of their best customers."

Diane turned to her drink. "That's…incredible."

"Yeah. Tod was pretty burned up by it. I was too. Anyway, I tried to get him to come here tonight, figured seeing you might cheer him up."

Diane took a drink to try to fortify herself. She had to get away from Buz and back to her dressing room before she broke down. "I'm sorry," she said, her apology almost out of place. "That he, that he couldn't come." She stood up from the bar stool and looked at Buz. "Tell him I said hello will you?"

Buz nodded. "Sure."

She turned and walked away, hurrying. Buz watched her and frowned, not understanding her sudden skittishness.

After breakfast with Mrs. Gebhardt on Sunday morning, Tod and Buz took the Bel Air to Jepson's garage. The car lot and garage were closed for business on Sunday so the boys were able to work undisturbed.

Tod lifted the hood up and Buz looked in to the engine bay. "So what's it going to take to get more juice out of this thing?"

"Well, I can put high performance spark plugs in, swap the two barrel carb there for a four and install a bigger air filter. And I'll replace the fuel lines with stainless to reduce the risk of anything rupturing."

Buz nodded. "Doesn't sound too complex."

"Nope. Those are the easiest and least expensive ways to get some more horsepower out of this thing. Plus pulling the backseat out to make room for a roll bar will lighten the weight a bit. We'll just have to remember to pull the spare tire and the jack out of the trunk too."

Buz nodded. "Where are we going to get a roll bar?"

"Good question. We'll have to ask around, see if we can get one fabricated."

Buz paused looking at the engine bay again then to his friend. "That cop really try to talk you out of the race?"

"Yeah. And he's got it figured that we're looking to get the Corvette back by doing this race."

"What's he think of that?"

"Says it's not a good idea."

"Hmph. He would."

"Says I should leave it to the police to recover the car."

"Right. Do you believe the police are going to recover your car, Tod?"

Tod paused. "Normally I would. They haven't given me much reason to believe they'll find it especially after yesterday. I know we're outsiders, Buz, but…" Tod shook his head. "Is courtesy dead?"

"Nope. But it may be misplaced…"


	5. Burned

In the two weeks since the "staff meeting" Buz had with Vern Tate, cargo operations at the freight yard were running smooth. Unbeknownst to Buz, the alliance the two men had formed would prove to be even more pivotal for matters outside the freight yard. On Monday morning, during a brief lull while the yard crew waited for the next tractor trailer to arrive to pick up a container, Vern approached Buz.

"Mistah Murdock?"

Buz turned from the shanty to Vern.

"Did I see you at the track on Saturday?"

Buz chuckled. "Yeah, I was there."

"With Mistah Stiles?"

"Yep. We got a car we're gonna put in a race."

"Your Corvette?"

"No that got stolen, unfortunately. We picked up a nice Bel Air on Saturday."

"Stolen?"

"Yeah. Last week. We think we know who did it."

"Who?"

Buz paused. "You ever heard of Silas Doyle?"

Vern gave a snort. "Yeah, I heard of 'em. No good sonofa…. He'da been my guess on takin' your car. That's the kind he specializes in."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Fancy cars and sports cars. My kid—" Vern paused, looking at Buz, deciding whether or not to reveal more. "My kid brother used t' work for 'em."

"Used to?"

Vern paused. "He's a lousy employer." He looked at Buz. "What makes ya think he's got yer car?"

"Well, on Saturday when Tod and I went looking for a new car we went to one of Doyle's dealerships. Guess what we found sitting on the lot?"

"Yer kidding?"

Buz shook his head. "When we went back later with a cop, the car was gone. So, Tod and I figure to take the car back from him somehow. We entered Doyle's race to have an excuse to hang around the track."

"You entered the Skull Cracker?"

"Yeah. Ah, don't tell me. Tod and I are crazy?"

Vern laughed. "The way you fight, I dunno I wanna see what y'all do to that track!" Vern lightly touched his chin, showing a faded bruise from Buz's right cross.

Buz laughed.

"It's a tough race tho'. Y'all raced before?"

"Tod has. I'm just the chief gopher and coffee getter."

"Y'all ain't got a pit crew?"

Buz shook his head.

Vern rolled his eyes. "How ya gonna change four tires and put gas in that car for Mistah Stiles in less than a minute?"

Buz knew it was ridiculous, but he and Tod hadn't thought that far out yet. He could only grin. "I guess Tod will have to get out of the car and help."

Vern shook his head. "Damn Yankees…"

At the lunch break, Buz called Tod and asked him to come down to the yard to talk to Vern. They gathered at a parked, empty boxcar and sat in the open side doorway.

"I'll admit, I hadn't given much thought to a pit crew," Tod said. "I'll be lucky I qualify to run the race anyway."

"Why?" Vern asked. "What's wrong with the car?"

"Well, nothing really but if I'm going to run it at 130 miles an hour I have to make some mods to it. I ran it stock Saturday, it tops out at 100."

"How come you didn't get an Impala?"

"We weren't originally looking for a race car. We were just looking for something to get us where we need to go."

Vern nodded. "Well, I'd like to offer to help y'all. I can round up a few fellas for a pit crew too. Silas Doyle ain't on my Christmas list and if you boys are gonna go up against him, I want a front row seat."

Tod glanced at Buz and then nodded at Vern. "All right. I'll need some help with the mods to the car, do you happen to know anybody who can fabricate a roll bar?"

Vern nodded. "No problem, I can get that for ya. You'll have to weld it in yourself though."

"I can do that," Buz said.

Tod nodded. "I'll have to modify the exhaust on it too but I can't do that yet or else the car won't be legal to drive on the street."

"My cousin can help with the exhaust," Vern said. "Since y'all are gonna weld that roll bar in yourself, he can help ya with a kit for the exhaust, part of that you'll have to weld together."

Tod looked at Buz, who nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"What are you planning for engine mods?" Vern asked. "You swapping the headers?"

"No, just upgrading the carburetor, the plugs and the air filter. Don't have time or the money for a total overhaul."

Vern nodded. "Well, with that much at least, you won't finish dead last."

Tod was grateful for the offer to help and when the lunch break ended and the gathered workers headed back to their jobs, Tod paused at the shanty to talk to Buz. He watched as Vern walked past and then turned to Buz. "How does he know Doyle?"

"Said his kid brother used to work for him."

"Doing what?"

Buz shook his head. "I don't know. When I asked why his brother didn't work for Doyle anymore all Vern said was that Doyle was a lousy employer."

Over the next few nights, Tod and Buz worked on the car. The first big job was to swap the carburetor and while Tod worked on that Buz worked on removing the back seat and preparing for installing the roll bar when they got one.

It took Tod about forty minutes to swap the two barrel carb out and put the four barrel in. Once everything was all connected back up he asked Buz to start the car.

When Buz turned the key, the starter fired but the engine wouldn't catch. Undeterred, Tod said to try it once more.

The engine still wouldn't catch.

"Hang on," Tod said. He took a moment to make some adjustments. "Ok, try it now."

Buz turned the key, the starter fired and then finally the engine caught and turned over. A healthy sounding roar filled the garage. Buz looked at Tod and grinned revving the engine a little. "They didn't teach you that at Yale!"

"Nope." Tod grinned as Buz revved the engine again.

"Barely touch the gas now and she's ready to go," Buz said.

"Yeah. She won't have to work so hard to get past 100 miles an hour on the track."

With the carb swap a success, changing the plugs and installing stainless steel lines in the engine were next. On Tuesday, Vern Tate told Buz that he'd have the roll bar for their car, all cut and bend to specs to fit the Bel Air, by Friday and he would deliver it to Jepsons garage for them.

So Tod and Buz spent Tuesday and Wednesday night, installing the new plugs and the stainless steel lines and then making adjustments to the timing and fuel mixture.

When they drove back to Mrs. Gebhardt's Wednesday night, even Buz could sense the car was running smoother and better from when they first bought it.

"I know," Tod said. "If we had the time and money, I'd swap out the headers and the cam shaft too, really make this thing fly."

Buz grinned. "So other than getting that roll bar welded in, what do we have left to do?"

"Just the exhaust, which we can do next week before the race."

"Can you run it at the track this weekend like you did before?"

"Yeah. There's another test and tune session on Saturday."

"Perfect."

Since Tod had the engine mods finished and the roll bar wouldn't be coming until Friday night, the boys took a well-deserved night off on Thursday and went to The King nightclub.

When they got there, all the tables at the front near the stage were filled. They found a table at the back of the lounge near the bar. Vicky smiled at both of them when she came to the table to take their orders.

Buz glanced back at the bar to see that Jerry was out of ear shot and then looked at Vicky. "I'm serious about going for coffee you know."

Vicky smiled. "Buz…"

"I know, I know. Can't date the customers. Well, look, I can quit being a customer."

"I'd still get in trouble," she said.

"Wouldn't I be worth it?"

In the dimly lit lounge, Buz couldn't see her face flush a little. "Yeah," she said. "You might be." She turned and left the table to get their drinks.

Buz's grin was a mile wide. Tod chuckled and just shook his head.

After Diane's show, Tod waited a few minutes and then left the table and headed for the hall way to the left of the stage. There, he waited for her, smoking a cigarette to pass the time.

She emerged several minutes later, her gaze held downward as she walked.

"Diane?"

She stopped, looking at him and briefly looked frightened, raising her hand up to her chest as if looking to catch her heart. "Tod…"

He smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…" His gaze went to the bracelet she wore on her wrist and his smile faded.

Diane lowered her hand and smiled awkwardly. "It's okay. Usually the bouncers don't let customers in the hall here…"

Tod took her hand, still looking at the jewelry and then at her. "This looks like the bracelet you lost in the car…" he said.

She could have laughed and said _'no, silly, this is a different one!'_ but she said nothing. The guilt on her face confused Tod. Diane lowered her gaze and took her hand from him, turning to walk away back to her dressing room.

He stepped ahead blocking her retreat. She refused to meet his gaze to see the shock and confusion in his green eyes and there was no attempt to excuse or explain or cover up or lie. Her silence confirmed his thought and stunned him.

"Diane…is it? How'd you get it back?"

She shook her head continuing to avoid looking at him. "Look, Tod, get out of here. This is no place for you to be."

"You set me up…?" he said, not completely understanding the conclusion.

"Tod, please, just go."

"I want to know why."

"I ask myself that same question." She glanced at him now. "Look, I'm sorry. You wouldn't understand. The way things are here. I had to..."

"You _had_ to? For what? Why?"

"I have to survive!" she hissed. Now she looked at him, suddenly full of anger. "And I was doing just fine until you showed up!" She stormed off.

Tod started after her but a couple of bouncers had appeared in the hall behind Diane as they were talking and the moved to block Tod from going any further.

"Customers ain't allowed back here," one of the bouncers, a big burly looking fellow said.

Tod contemplated taking on both bouncers right then and there, he was angry enough to. But he didn't and instead turned and left the hall returning to the table.

Buz looked up and saw darkened expression on Tod's face. "What's the matter?"

Tod dug into his pocket for money and left a couple of bills on the table. "I gotta go." He handed the key to the Bel Air to Buz. "I'll take a cab or walk or something. I gotta get out of here."

"Tod, what is it?"

Tod shook his head. "I'll tell you later. After I cool off." He headed for the exit.

Buz watched Tod go. Something wasn't right. He wondered if Diane had burned Tod but with the brisk way his buddy walked, and the tense set to his shoulders, it indicated that Tod was extremely angry about something. If he'd been dumped, Tod would have just simply moped along out of the club.

Buz stood up and added his money to the table and followed out after Tod.

Outside the door, Buz looked in both directions of the side walk. He spotted Tod and hurried to catch up.

"Tod? Tod, wait up…" Buz came to fall in step beside his friend. "What happened? Don't tell me she burned you."

"Oh yeah, she burned me all right. _Real_ good." Tod stopped walking and looked at Buz. " _She_ set me up. She set me up to have the 'vette stolen, that's how she burned me."

Buz blinked. " _What?!_ "

Tod nodded. "When I drove her to her apartment after dinner that night, she had a bracelet on her wrist that fell off, the clasp was loose. It ended up somewhere on the floor of the car. We tried to find it when we got to her place but it was dark and the flashlight in the glove box wasn't working very well, I couldn't find it. Tonight I see her with the same bracelet on again. She admitted it, Buz. She admitted to setting me up!"

"But why?!"

"I don't know, I didn't get that much out of her! She started giving me some sob story about how she had to do it, that I wouldn't understand how things were here and that she had to do what she did to survive. To survive! What am I supposed to make of that?!"

"I don't even know what to make of that," Buz said. "I can't believe she had anything to do with it, it doesn't make sense!"

Tod threw his hands up and shook his head. "I don't know, Buz."

"C'mon," Buz said suddenly, tugging Tod's jacket sleeve. "We're going to get some answers right now."

Tod and Buz returned to the club and moved quickly and smoothly through the full lounge area. Tod led the way and they maneuvered through the tables and to the left of the stage, heading to the back.

They went through a door and were half way down a hall when they were stopped by one of the club's bouncers, the same big burly one that had shoo'd Tod away a few minutes earlier. "Listen, I already told you you're not supposed to be back here."

"I need to see Diane," Tod said.

The bouncer chuckled. "You come back and see her tomorrow night when she goes out to sing again. Meantime, nobody's allowed back here so beat it."

"Look, this is important."

"That's what they all say. Now I'm not telling you again. Get out of here. Both of you."

There was a moment's stare down, then Tod put his hands up in a surrender gesture and started to turn to leave – then suddenly turned right back and tried to push past the bouncer.

The move surprised even Buz, who suddenly jumped to try to deflect the bouncer so Tod could get away. The bouncer grabbed Tod and Buz attempted to break the hold. Buz had fought some tough guys in his time, but this bouncer was the size of a commercial refrigerator. The man slugged Tod in the stomach and then turned to Buz and smacked a rock solid right cross to Buz's jaw.

The blow sent Buz flailing into the wall where he caught himself. From somewhere more bouncers showed up and Tod and Buz were grabbed up and hauled down the hall way to the back exit.

Tod was trying to stay on his feet, stay upright and catch his breath. Buz fought against the grip of the two bouncers who were escorting him. The back alley door was pushed open and the two friends were shoved and thrown out, both landing in the pile of trash and discarded cardboard boxes. The door was then slammed shut.

The noise and spectacle didn't go unnoticed by Diane. She had opened her dressing room door just as Tod and Buz were dragged by and she had seen them be pushed out the back door.

"Couple o' guys trying to see you," the head bouncer, Dusty, told her as he and his boys were coming back down the hall. "We took care of 'em, Miss Lovely don't worry."

Diane nodded. "Thanks, Dusty." The bouncers headed back to the lounge and Diane looked at the back alley door for a long moment. She then returned to her dressing room, closing the door.

In the alley, Buz sat up kicking a box out of the way and rubbing his jaw. "Southern hospitality…" he grumbled.

Tod pushed a box away and got to his knees, oxygen now returning to his lungs in full.

"You ok?" Buz asked.

Tod nodded. "Breathing…helps…"

Buz got up and helped Tod up off his knees. "C'mon," Buz said. "If we try that again we're going to need a battle plan…"

To figure out a battle plan, they first had to better understand the enemy. And the only person they knew who seemed to know anything about Silas Doyle was Vern Tate. The trick was getting Vern to talk more about him.

Friday morning, during a lull in cargo pick up, Vern asked Buz how the car was coming.

"Coming good. Tod's got all the mods to the engine done and we're just waiting on the roll bar."

"I'll have that for you tonight." Vern looked at Buz's face, seeing the fresh bruise. "What the hell happened to you?"

"What? Oh… Tod and I got thrown out of a nightclub last night."

Vern snorted. "Which one?"

"Place called The King."

Vern paused. "The King? Y'all don't mess around do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's the club Doyle owns."

"Doyle?" Buz paused as it sunk in and then slowly nodded. "Nowww it's starting to make sense…"

"What?"

"Tod and I started going there a few weeks ago. We both dug the lady singer only she dug Tod more than me and…we just figured out last night how the Corvette got stolen. Now you tell me Doyle owns the club and the pieces start to fit."

Vern nodded. "Diane. And that wasn't the first time she's baited somebody for their car."

"Vern, tell me everything you know about Silas Doyle. Do you have an idea where Tod's Corvette might be?"

Vern shook his head. "I didn't work for the man. My brother Cecil did. He took me t' the club a couple of times, wanted me t' get outta workin' here and go work for Doyle." Vern shook his head. "Jazz music ain't my thing. But I remember Diane. And I remember Cecil tellin' me how when they spotted a customer with a sports car, they'd use Diane to set the guy up for a date and then steal his car. That's what they did t' Mistah Stiles ain't it?"

"Yeah. Only Tod fell for her, you know? And finding out she set him up last night burned him up pretty bad. Vern, is there any way we could talk to your brother?"

"I'm afraid not Mistah Murdock."

There was an awkward pause. Buz had at least two reasons why going through his head.

Vern confirmed one of them. "He's dead."

"I'm sorry…"

Vern shook his head. "Not as sorry as Silas Doyle should be."

"What happened, Vern?"

"Don't matter now, he's dead." Vern looked at Buz. "You n' Mistah Stiles still gonna try t' get your car back right?"

"That's the plan."

"Good. Like I said, I'll have that roll bar for ya tonight."

Buz nodded. Another tractor trailer was coming into the yard to pick up a container and Vern stepped away to be in position for it. Buz walked back to the shanty and picked up the radio mike.

"Hey Tod?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Come down here on the lunch break. I just found out something interesting…"

At lunch break, Tod went down to the yard. He and Buz walked by themselves between tracks with parked locomotives and container cars and Buz told Tod what he'd learned from Vern Tate.

"That explains it all," Tod said. "And a lot of things Diane said make sense now."

Buz nodded. "She's a caged bird. She can sing but there's no way he'll ever let her fly."

They stopped walking and Tod looked at Buz. "I'd like to bust that cage."

"So would I. Not just for Diane, but look at Vern who lost his brother. He blames Doyle. And look at Mr. Jepson, he's going to be forced out of business eventually. Doyle's made an awful lot of people miserable in this town."

"He's taken lives and livelihoods. All he took from us was a car. How come we're the ones fighting back?"

"Because everyone else is too afraid too. Mr. Jepson's can't afford to risk his daughter, Diane's just in too deep. And Vern… I think he's too full of guilt more than anything, for not trying hard enough to keep his brother _out_ of Doyle's organization."

"So he jumped at helping us."

"Exactly. But ya know, I've been thinking this morning. You may not even have to run that race next Sunday."

"Why not?"

"Well…" Buz smiled. "I got an idea…"

"Uh oh."

Buz chuckled. "You'll dig this one. What if we gave Doyle the opportunity to steal another car?"

"You mean set up one as bait at the King?"

"Yeah."

"But he knows us. We show up with another car, he won't try to rip us off again. Besides that where are we gonna get another car?"

Buz shook his head. "We go see Mr. Jepson Saturday morning and we get somebody else to drive the car."

"Jepson didn't have anything on his lot worth stealing, at least not the kind of cars Doyle goes for."

"No, but Jepson might know where we can get one to use."

Tod paused. "I dunno, Buz…even if we find a car and somebody to drive it, then what?"

"I got a couple of ideas, but it depends on the car we get. We'll see on Saturday when we go see Jepson."

Despite Buz's new idea, they still moved forward with preparing for the race. Friday night, Vern Tate and a couple of his buddies showed up at Jepson's garage with the roll bar all ready to be welded in. They helped pull out the rest of the interior of the car and pull up the carpeting and then cut holes in the floor pan to get to the frame rails. Buz welded the roll bar to the frame, welded in a crossbar for extra protection and two bracing supports that went from the roll bar into the trunk to connect with the frame rails in the rear.

Buz was meticulous with the welding. If his other idea didn't pan out and Tod still had to run the race, the roll bar and supports were going to be important to keeping Tod safe, especially if the race was as rough as other folks had alluded to. God forbid Tod flipped the car over.

Buz pushed the thought from his mind. Tod had driven open wheel and open cockpit racers that didn't even have roll bars. Surely Tod would be safer in a big ol' hardtop Chevy coupe. Buz completed the final weld along the frame rail in the rear and straightened up from the trunk bay, extinguishing the torch on the welding gun.

"Looks good, Mistah Murdock," Vern said.

"Thanks," Buz said. He took his welders goggles off.

Tod and Vern's two buddies, Mitch and Ryan, came over to take a look.

Tod smiled. "Nice job. I know racing's not your thing, Buz, but race teams are always in a need of a good welder/fabricator and body man."

Buz grinned. "Yeah…but I'm into the other kind of body work if you know what I mean."

The men laughed. In fact, it had to be one of the first times Tod and Buz really saw Vern with a genuinely happy expression.

"Hey," Vern said as the laughter died down. "You gonna run durin' the test an' tune tomorrow?"

Tod nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. Mitch here's gonna have his car out too. You might wanna try runnin' against him for a couple o' laps. Just run this lady flat out an' see what she'll do."

When Tod and Buz got to Jepson's dealership Saturday morning, they explained what they had learned about Diane and how Doyle was finding and snagging the high end cars and sports cars.

"And the poor fella who gets his car stolen never suspects a thing," Jepson said. He then looked at Tod apologetically.

"Unfortunately," Tod said.

"What we were thinking was to set up another car as bait for Doyle to steal," Buz said.

"Won't he suspect something if one of you shows up with a new sports car?" Jepson asked.

"That's why we have somebody else drive it," Buz said.

"Who?"

Buz looked at Jepson.

"Oh now wait a minute, I don't have anything in my inventory that Doyle would want to steal."

"What about another dealer? Somebody who dislikes Doyle as much as you do?"

"Well…" Jepson paused in thought and then shook his head. "No, he'd never go for a crazy stunt like this."

"Who?"

"Forget it. No way, it's too risky. You boys can't pull off something like that against Doyle." Jepson paced away from the boys a moment, suddenly uncomfortable.

Tod and Buz watched him. Buz stepped up beside the man. "Mr. Jepson, how long have you had your dealership?"

Jepson looked at Buz. "Twenty-two years…"

"You'd rather let Doyle take it away from you?"

Jepson frowned. "No. But he's going to take it anyway, he's half way there!"

"So you're going to let it go without a fight?"

"I have nothing left to fight with! And you can't _fight_ a guy like Doyle, he's too powerful, he has too many friends. You boys don't know, you're new here in Atlanta…"

"Oh we know," Buz said. "We know what kinda guy Doyle is. We know a guy at the freight yard, his younger brother worked for Doyle. You know what happened to him? He's dead. Doyle uses people up and then discards them. He imprisons them. Like Diane. Beautiful woman with a beautiful voice, caged up like a bird at that nightclub. She should be in New York with her face on billboards in Times Square doing duets with Sinatra, instead of being forced to set guys up to rip off their cars. We're going after this guy not because he stole my buddy's car, but because he's stolen so much more from other people. People like you. I refuse to believe you don't have any fight left in you, Mr. Jepson. I just refuse to believe that."

"Papa…." Maggie came up to her father. "He's right. I know you still have some fight left in you. You can't let this go without trying."

Jepson looked at his daughter and saw all the reasons, in addition to the ones Buz just gave him, that he still had to fight to try to save his dealership and stop a man like Silas Doyle. He gave her a half smile. "Always my cheerleader," he said. He paused another moment and then looked at Buz. "You want me to drive the car?"

Buz nodded. "All you have to do is drive the car to the club, let it be seen, let Diane bait you for a date and let the car be stolen. Tod and I do the rest."

"Do I look like the kind of guy that this lady would take on a date?"

"You would if you have the right car," Buz said.

"Then what do you fellas do?"

"Catch these guys in the act. See, what I was thinking was I could hide in the trunk of the car on the night of the date. Odds are the cars are taken to a holding area, a warehouse or something. They'll keep it under wraps for a while before they do anything or move it. I can be out of that trunk the night they park it somewhere and I'll know where they're keeping the cars. Tod will follow the car but not too close and then I just meet up with Tod and we'll have them."

"What, you call the cops in?"

"Exactly."

"Why not call the cops in beforehand?"

Buz glanced at Tod.

"Well, we think Mr. Doyle might have some friends in the police department that could tip him off," Tod said.

"Somehow that wouldn't surprise me," Jepson said. He sighed. "I think you two are crazy, but I've told you that already with you wanting to run in that damn fool race. _This_ little caper, if it works, would take the cake."

"It'll only work if we have a car for bait," Buz said. "Who's the other dealer?"

"Well, I don't know that he'll go for something like this but his name is Carl Henderson, he has a Jaguar dealership in Buckhead and he hates Silas Doyle. You fellas go see him. If he goes along with this stunt, knowing perfectly well he could lose one of his cars, then I'll do it, I'll drive it."

They drove to Buckhead, in North Atlanta, to Henderson's Jaguar dealership with Mr. Jepson. Jepson introduced Tod and Buz to Carl Henderson and explained that the boys had a car that had been stolen by Silas Doyle and they had a plan to try to retrieve it but needed some help.

"Doyle huh?" Henderson said. "I'm sorry you fellas had your car stolen but do you realize who you're going up against?"

"Oh they know," Jepson said.

Henderson gave a snort and smiled. "I hate the man, personally and professionally. I had two Jags stolen last year that I'm sure he had something to do with. Never could prove it and the cops were no damn help."

"Yeah, we found the same thing," Tod said.

"I'm sure you did. So what's your plan to get your car back?"

Buz explained his idea and how they needed a car for bait. Henderson raised an eyebrow as Buz laid out the details but otherwise listened.

"What if it doesn't work?" Henderson said. "What are you two going to do if you lose my Jag?"

Buz and Tod glanced at each other. "We'll pay for the car, somehow, Mr. Henderson," Tod said. "Even if Buz and I have to stay in Atlanta for the next 30 years to do it."

"You two really would go through all this trouble to try to get your car back? What was it you had?"

"Corvette," Tod said.

"Ah." Henderson nodded. "Well, I think I can understand the motive certainly. And I greatly admire your guts for going up against Silas Doyle. But let me see if I have this right. You want to use one of my Jags as bait so you can track it after it's stolen." Henderson looked at Buz. "You're going to hide in the trunk while your buddy here tails you, more or less."

Buz nodded. "Right. See, if we can locate where they're holding cars and see what they're doing that's more info we could take to the police. If we're lucky, we'll find the Corvette while we're at it."

"If Doyle hasn't shipped it out of the city by now to a buyer out of state. I can't believe he was dumb enough to put it on his lot." Henderson paused. "Actually, I can." He looked at the boys. "The odds are pretty good though that your Corvette is long gone by now. If you manage to pull this off and get the law to come down on Doyle, will it be worth it if you don't get your car back?"

Buz looked at Tod, who looked thoughtful for a moment. Behind the green eyes, Tod thought of the car and his father. Then he thought of Diane and her stalled dreams, Vern Tate and his dead brother and he glanced at Mr. Jepson who was on the verge of losing his dealership and a lifetime of work. Maybe he'd end up losing the Corvette in the end, but the least he and Buz could do at this point was to go forward and try to right a wrong.

Tod nodded to Mr. Henderson. "Yeah," he said. "It would be worth it."

Henderson nodded. "And although I appreciate that you boys would work off the loss of a Jag if it should end up lost, I have a least a little bit of an ace in the hole for that as it's covered under my insurance. So I just let Harold here borrow a Jag for a night on the town to a nice fancy nightclub and the poor sap gets ripped off. As long as I got a police report for the theft, I can make a claim for it. Not that my insurance man will appreciate it and they'll hike up my rate but, if in the end it puts Silas Doyle out of business, it'll be worth it."

Before leaving Henderson's Jaguar dealership, they had most of the details and logistics worked out. The car to be used was a silver 1961 XKE model with a black convertible top. Henderson would make the arrangements to deliver the car to Jepson before Monday night.

Saturday afternoon, Tod and Buz went to the race track. Vern Tate's buddy Mitch was already on the track in a coffee colored Impala with the number 16 splashed on the doors. Tod and Buz pulled the spare tire and jack from the trunk of the Bel Air and Tod did a check under the hood before taking the car out on to the track.

Buz watched from the pit road wall again with a stop watch in hand. He had high expectations this time.

So did Tod. City driving had been a tease, he'd barely had to touch the accelerator to keep up with usual traffic which meant the throttle was hardly even opened up. Now he was about to blow the thing wide open and he couldn't help the silly grin on his face as he exited pit road and moved on to the bottom of the race track.

There were a few other cars running on the track as well. He checked his mirrors for traffic as the car eased up to 70 miles an hour. When the coast was clear, Tod stood on it and the Bel Air sprung up on to the high side of the track.

The car broke 100 miles an hour in mere seconds and the speedometer hit its 120mph max with plenty of room still left under the pedal.

Buz smiled seeing the car move and then catch up to the number 16 that was already going flat out on the back stretch. Mitch saw the Bel Air coming up behind him and he waved his hand out the window. Tod waved back and flashed a thumbs up. The Bel Air followed, nearly nose to tail of the Impala, down into turn three and the two cars slung shot out of turn four racing down the front stretch. Buz clicked the stop watch when the Bel Air crossed the line and the race was on.

Tod moved the Bel Air to the side of Mitch and started to pull up to try to pass but didn't make it before reaching turn one. He dropped back behind the Impala and followed into the turn. The cars came out of turn two and ran tight along the back stretch, side by side. They were still side by side at turn three and went into the turn together coming back out turn four running door to door.

The two Chevy's blew by the start/finish line and Buz clicked the stop watch. A marked improvement from a week ago. Tod had shaved close to 40 seconds off his time, this time around taking the 1.5 mile track in in just over a minute. Buz grinned and marked the time down.

From their stall on pit road, Donnie and Stuart watched the blue Bel Air go zooming down the front straightaway.

"That's Stiles," Donnie said. When the car disappeared down into the turn, he looked at Stuart. "What'd Doyle say about him running in the Skull Cracker?"

Stuart shook his head. "He just laughed."

"Yeah," Donnie said sardonically. "Maybe he should come down here and see this kid run. He ain't just some New York slick. Kid's got a lead foot and knows how to use it."

Vern Tate found Buz at his spot on the pit road wall and he stepped up. "Mistah Stiles's lookin' good out there."

"Yeah," Buz said. "Shaved about 40 seconds off his time from last week, when he ran it bone stock."

Vern nodded. "And he's still runnin' the stock exhaust. Wait 'til he gets the short pipes on. The more that car can breathe, the faster she's gonna go."

"Oh, that reminds me…" Buz flipped a page on the clipboard he was using to Tod's running cost sheet on the parts for the car. "Tod wanted to know what we owe you for the roll bar."

Vern shook his head. "Nothin'. And y'all don't gotta pay for the exhaust swap either."

"Vern, Tod said…"

"Nope. All due respect to Mistah Stiles and I appreciate y'all wantin' to pay up an' everythin', but the fact y'all got the guts to go up against Doyle is payment enough. And believe me, Doyle knows y'all are in this race by now. Coupla his boys are down the road there and they been watchin' Mistah Stiles on this run."

"Oh? Well, then…" Buz watched as the Bel Air and Impala came out of turn four and were racing down the front stretch again, this time with Tod pulling about half a car length ahead. Buz readied the stop watch and clicked it when Tod crossed the line. "Point them out to me."

"They're about four slots up from here." Vern gestured to the right.

Buz turned to look. Sure enough, he saw Donnie and Stuart who were looking in his direction because Tod was heading into turn one. He didn't know Stuart, but he recognized Donnie and Buz stared openly at the two men.

There was no doubt they saw him but they resumed watching with interest the blue and coffee colored Chevy's on the track that were duking it out.

Buz grinned to himself.

After a few more laps, the two Chevy's came in off the track and paraded down pit road going back to the garage area. Buz and Vern followed after the cars.

Tod pulled the Bel Air into the garage stall he was using while Mitch drove on a little further to reach his. Tod removed his racing helmet and got out of the car. Buz and Vern caught up to him a few moments later.

"You were runnin' real good out there Mistah Stiles," Tate said.

"Ran like a dream," Tod said with a grin. "If she had wings, she'd fly."

Buz handed over the time sheet. "You took 40 seconds off your time from last week. Second time I clocked you, you took another two seconds off that."

Tod looked at the times and nodded.

"You ain't gonna have no problem qualifyin' for the Skull Cracker," Vern said. "Like I said to Mistah Murdock heah, when you get them short pipes on you're gonna run even faster."

Tod flipped up the page on the clipboard and then looked at Buz. "Did you ask him about the roll bar?"

Buz nodded. "We don't owe anything."

"That's right," Vern said before Tod could protest. "And you ain't gonna owe for the exhaust swap either."

"Vern—"

"No, like I told Mistah Murdock heah, you boys having the guts to go up against Silas Doyle is payment enough. And I mean that. So don't you worry about havin' to pay nothin'."

Tod nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Vern shook his head. "No. _Thank you_ ," he said sincerely. "I'll go check on Mitch. I'll see you fellas later."

They watched Vern go and then Buz looked at Tod. "We do have Doyle's attention."

"How do you know?"

"Two of his boys were watching you do your run. Vern pointed them out to me. One of them is the fella that told us we didn't have the right equipment last Saturday."

Tod snorted. "Really."

"Yeah. Wonder what he thinks now?"

Tod glanced out from the garage. "I think we're going to get a chance to ask him…"

Buz turned to look. Donnie walked up to the garage.

"Hey," he said, "aren't you the two guys I saw last weekend with that car?" Donnie pointed at the Bel Air.

"Yeah," Tod said. "We're the ones that didn't have the roll bar or the right tires or anything."

"And no previous stock car experience." Donnie stepped toward the Bel Air and looked it over, seeing the roll bar, even reaching in through the open window to grip it and finding it was solid. "I saw you out there, you burned up the track today." He moved to the front of the car.

"We're fast learners," Buz said. "And Tod's a good driver."

"Maybe," Donnie said. He unlatched the hood and lifted it up, feeling the breath of heat off the engine. "We'll see if you're good enough come next Sunday."

Tod let Donnie have a look at the engine for a moment and then reached up and slowly brought the hood back down, using his other hand to politely back Donnie away from the engine bay. The hood was pushed closed. "I think I'll do all right," Tod said.

Donnie looked at him, hiding a smirk. "Nice four barrel and stainless steel lines. I even saw the high performance plugs. Who did your mods?"

"I did."

There was a peculiar look in Donnie's expression briefly, a cross between being impressed and being annoyed. "Yeah, figures. You weld in that roll bar too?"

"Buz did that."

"Hm. Well, the Skull Cracker ain't no ride in the park. Whatever racing you've done before ain't gonna prepare you for this event I can guarantee that."

"Like I said, I think I'll be all right," Tod said.

"Yeah, well you might not be. A nice run on a Saturday against one car is nothing compared to having 20 cars trying to push you off the track. Just remember that."

"Yeah, I'll remember that."

The undeterred confidence of both Tod and Buz bothered Donnie. He sensed their determination wasn't based on a false assurance because they were ignorant of what they were getting in to. No, he figured they knew _exactly_ what they were getting in to and based on the looks in both of their eyes, the Skull Cracker race next Sunday was going to be a hell run of a race.

In short, these two guys were going to be trouble. Damn that Corvette….


	6. The Deal

After they got off shift at the freight yard on Monday, Tod and Buz went to Jepson's dealership to see the Jag. Jepson had it tucked away in the empty garage stall that the boys had been using while working on their Bel Air, keeping the door closed. Jepson lead them from the office through the garage bays to the last one.

There, the Jag sat, the silver paint reflecting the fluorescent overhead lights.

"Didn't look right parked on the lot with some of the cars I've got," Jepson said with a sheepish grin.

The boys chuckled. Jepson handed the keys to Tod and he unlocked the car.

Although they had seen the Jag at Henderson's dealership on Saturday, they didn't have the time to really look it over. Tod looked over the interior, noting the four speed stick shift on the floor. He grinned up at Mr. Jepson. "You know how to drive this thing?"

Jepson laughed. "I do!"

Buz grinned. "Doyle'll being drooling over this for sure. Let me have those keys for a minute…"

Tod handed the keys to Buz and Buz went to the rear of the car and stood there for a moment. He looked over the trunk lid and then tried to move the license plate. "How do you open the trunk there's no key hole?"

"Ah, there's a latch inside," Jepson said. "Behind you, Tod, on the passenger side there…" Jepson pointed and Tod reached back behind passenger seat and felt along the floor bump, finding the latch. He pulled it and then trunk lid popped open.

"Odd place for it," Tod said to Jepson as he stepped out of the driver's seat.

"English cars…" Jepson said.

Buz opened the trunk and looked at the trunk bay as Tod came to the back of the car. He looked at the trunk space and then grinned at Buz. "You think you're going to fit in there?" Tod asked.

"One way to find out." Buz proceeded to climb into the trunk space and when he was tucked in as far as he could go he nodded to Tod to close the lid.

The lid clicked closed and Tod and Mr. Jepson could hear Buz shift around a little within the small space. Then they heard him tap on the lid and Tod went back to the cockpit to pull the trunk release latch.

Buz lifted the trunk lid. "Yeah, a little tight," he said. "But doable." He took Tod's extended hand to help him climb out of the trunk. "The trick now is to figure how to rig the lock so I can get out."

"I got something for that," Jepson said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a couple pieces of thin silver wire. "Tod, if you could pull the latch for me please and hold it…"

Tod returned to the driver's seat and did as asked. The latch in the lock mechanism clicked open and Jepson threaded the wire around the latch and then secured it to the housing of the lock mechanism, keeping the latch in place.

"Ok," he said to Tod. The latch remained open and Jepson took the other thin piece of wire and threaded it through the hook on the inside of the trunk lid.

"What you'll have to do when the lid is down is take one of these ends and thread it through this hole here," Jepson said and pointed to an opening on the lock mechanism, "and then just twist the two ends together to secure it while the car's moving. You better make sure you have a flashlight with you so you can see what you're doing when you secure it and then unsecure it. Otherwise, you'll never get out."

"That would kind of spoil the plan wouldn't it?" Buz said with a grin.

"It would," Jepson said, his tone serious. He looked back and forth between Tod and Buz. "Are you two really sure you want to go through with this scheme?"

Buz glanced at Tod, who nodded without hesitation.

"We're sure," Buz said. "You're not trying to get out of this are you?"

"No, no… I just want to be sure. I've got the easy part, all things considered. It's you boys I'm worried about and what happens after this car gets stolen."

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Jepson. Tod and I will be fine." Buz looked at his watch. "You better get going to the club."

"Yeah. Let me just get my jacket and tie…" Jepson turned and headed to his office.

To avoid any suspicion, Jepson went to the club alone while Tod and Buz waited at his car lot. Jepson stayed for a little over an hour, having a couple of drinks and listening to the jazz band play live music. Within that hour, the Jag was noticed by Stuart and Jepson was observed when he returned to the car and drove away.

Same Tuesday night. When Stuart spotted the Jag again in the parking lot of the club he went over to it to check it out. The top was up and the car was locked preventing Stuart from checking any registration papers but he did notice the temporary plate on the back of the car, indicating it was apparently a recent purchase.

Inside the club, Stuart spotted Jepson sitting at the bar with a drink and watching the band. Stuart waited and watched Jepson leave a little later, returning to the Jag and driving away.

Having discovered a potential new target, Stuart went Doyle's office after the Jag left.

"I may have something," Stuart said after he came into the office.

Doyle tapped his cigarette into an ashtray. "What?"

"A Jag."

Doyle looked up from the paperwork on his desk.

Stuart nodded. "Been in the parking lot the past two nights."

"Who does it belong to?"

"I don't know yet. Some duffer that's sat at the bar, having a couple of drinks and listening to the band. The car has a temp plate on it, the guy must've just bought it."

"What a shame," Doyle said. "Find out what you can and let me know if he comes back tomorrow. We'll have Diane introduce herself."

Stuart nodded.

On Wednesday night, Tod and Buz met Jepson at his dealership again.

"How many nights am I going to have to do this?" Jepson asked as he tied his necktie.

"Hard to tell," Buz said. "Tod and I didn't go the club every night so who knows how soon it was before they realized what kind of car we were showing up in."

"You'll know when they know," Tod said. "When you go back tomorrow night if you have Diane singing to you _very_ personal like, that's when the set up starts."

The bitterness in Tod's voice was clear. Jepson looked sympathetic and he gave a nod. He shrugged into his sport coat and adjusted his shirt sleeves. He patted Tod on the shoulder. "I know how you feel. I was a young man once too…" He stepped toward the Jag. "I'll see you boys in a little while."

At the club, Jepson's arrival in the Jaguar did not go unnoticed. Stuart watched as Jepson settled in at the bar and ordered a drink. He then went to Doyle's office.

"The guy with the Jag is here. He's at the bar."

Doyle got up from his desk and went to the door to look. He narrowed his eyes. "The old guy in the brown sport coat?"

"Yeah."

Doyle frowned. "That's Harold Jepson. He's got a ramshackle dealership over on West Street. When the hell did he afford a Jaguar?"

"Maybe he sold out finally."

"Well, he didn't sell out to me. And believe me I've offered enough times to buy his junk cars and push him right out of business." Doyle returned to his desk.

"Want Diane to set him up?"

Doyle leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. He hadn't survived as long as he had in this world without a healthy dose of suspicion about things. And Harold Jepson showing up at the club driving a Jaguar was suspicious enough. "Yeah," he said. "But I want insurance on this one."

Stuart nodded and turned leaving the office.

In the shadows of the stage at the front of the lounge, Stuart pointed out the newest target to Diane.

"The older guy at the bar, in the brown jacket. He's a used car dealer…"

Diane looked less than impressed.

"…who drives a Jaguar."

Diane looked at Stuart.

"The boss thinks there's something funny with this one though, so watch yourself. And try not to go soft on the guy eh?"

Diane flashed a look at Stuart, not appreciating the comment. She walked away and worked her way around the tables in the lounge while the band continued to play.

Jepson could see her coming, but pretended he didn't. She came up to the bar, a few feet away from him and stood there for a moment. He glanced over to her, recognizing her from the poster that was out front of the club. She was just as beautiful in person as she was in her photo. He certainly understood why Tod fell for her the way he did.

Jepson himself had been there once, a long, long time ago. A young man of twenty, smitten by an alluring beauty, a southern belle who grew bored easily and certainly didn't want anything to do with some silly car dealership. It hurt when he realized he'd been strung along, he recognized the same bitterness in Tod that he had in himself all those years ago. Eventually, it faded and disappeared when Jepson met the woman he would marry and raise a family with, his daughter Maggie and her siblings. He'd lost his wife just a few short years ago but he had been so blessed to have had her. It was peculiar how the old memories now came back.

He snorted softly to himself and took a sip of his scotch.

Diane approached him now and smiled. "Good evening," she said. "Enjoying the show?"

Jepson looked at her. The game was on. "Oh yes," he said. "It's a very good band. Reminds me of the old days."

"My name's Diane."

"Yes, I recognize you," Jepson said. "Your picture greets everybody at the door."

She laughed. "That's right."

Jepson smiled. "My name's Harold. You sing with the band?"

"I do. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights."

"Oh. Well, I'll have to come back tomorrow and listen."

"You should!"

"I intend to. Listen, can I buy you a drink?"

Diane smiled. "I'd like that."

Back at Jepson's dealership later, he told the boys what happened.

"She is one smooth lady, I'll give ya that. She approached me at the bar and introduced herself."

"They've made you already," Buz said. "Now it's just a question of when they'll set up to take the car."

"You know, I was thinking. Why don't they just steal it out of the parking lot while I'm there? Why go through all this trouble?"

"Keeps the heat off the club," Buz said. "Wouldn't do Doyle very good for his business if his customer's cars are being stolen from there all the time. No, see, I figure he mixes it up. He uses Diane as bait on occasion but probably not too often and otherwise tracks the cars he wants to boost, stealing them either from people's driveways or from where they work or wherever."

Jepson nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. But what about Diane? Wouldn't the police notice a pattern if cars are being stolen from in front of her apartment building all the time?"

"Depends how often they boost a car from there," Buz said. "I would think Doyle would mix that up a bit too. You could take Diane to dinner and walk out to find the Jag gone from the restaurant parking lot."

"It also depends on whether or not the police are paying attention to any patterns," Tod said. "Like I said before, it seems Doyle has some 'friends' on the police force."

"Yeah, you did say that. So Doyle could put up a neon sign advertising car theft and the cops are looking the other way."

Tod nodded.

"Hmmm. Well, at the rate things are going Doyle's going to get his hands on that Jaguar in the next couple of days I suspect." He looked at the two of them. "Isn't that damn fool race you're running in this Sunday?"

"Yes, it is," Tod said.

"If this works," Buz said, "Tod may not have to worry about running that race Sunday."

"Let's hope so," Jepson said.

Thursday night, Jepson returned to the King and was going to sit at his usual spot at the bar but was invited by Diane to sit at one of the tables near the stage. She performed her songs, coming down off the stage and singing directly to the men that sat at the front tables. Like she had done to Tod not that long ago, she sang directly to Mr. Jepson and lingered on him a little longer than the others.

She was definitely alluring. If he were twenty again, Jepson knew he would have fallen for Diane just like Tod had. Perhaps having been jaded by such an experience, and being a bit older now, helped Jepson keep his perspective in focus for the task he was really there for. He played along, however, smiling at her as she woo'd him with her song.

After her show, Jepson waited back at the bar as Tod and Buz had told him to do, knowing she would come out to appease autograph seekers and tolerate men who weren't bashful about asked for dates. Jepson was appalled at the complete lack of class some of the men displayed.

Which, he knew, set him up in a much better light.

He waited until the autograph seekers were gone before stepping up to her. "May I buy the lady a drink?"

Diane smiled at him. "You most certainly may."

Before the evening was over they had an early dinner date set for Friday night.

Jepson returned to his dealership and told Tod and Buz the news.

"I pick her up at 6, at the club," Jepson said. "It's an early dinner as she goes on at 8:00."

"That means we better hustle to get over here after we get off shift," Tod said to Buz.

Buz nodded. "We'll make it. What's the restaurant?"

"Place called Chantilly's, it's a few blocks from the club."

Tod looked at Buz. "What were you saying about taking the car right out of the restaurant parking lot?"

Buz nodded.

"You think that's how they'll do it?" Jepson asked.

"More than likely," Buz said. "You're not going to be dropping Diane back at her place after dinner because she has a show, you're close enough to the club that when the Jag gets stolen she can just walk back to the club."

"Right out of the parking lot? Isn't that kinda risky? Somebody'll see them," Jepson said.

"Not if they look like they should be near the car," Buz said. "These guys are professionals, Mr. Jepson, trust me, nobody will notice."

Friday at 5pm, Tod and Buz hustled to get out of the rail yard and then fight Atlanta's early evening traffic as the rest of the city was getting out of work. Tod found himself resorting to some old New York City style driving, which at least two southern driver's didn't appreciate as expressed by their blaring horns. It was close, but Tod and Buz made it to Jepson's dealership by five-thirty.

They quickly got Buz situated in the trunk of the Jag, remembering to give him a flashlight and do a dry run on working the latch so he could let himself out. With that set, Mr. Jepson finished gussying himself up, with help from Maggie.

Although Maggie knew what her father was up to, she couldn't help but tease him just a little. "Don't be nervous, Papa. You look very handsome."

"It's not me I'm worried about," he said. "It's those boys. It's Buz in the trunk of that car. I'm worried about him getting caught." He fixed his tie and looked at his daughter. "Now, you remember what I told you?"

Maggie nodded. "I'll be right here waiting for you to call."

"Hopefully these two will be back before I call. If they're not, though, you wait for me y'hear?"

"Yes, Papa."

He smiled at her. "Okay…" He leaned to her and kissed her forehead.

"Good luck, Papa."

"Ha. I've got the easy part." Jepson slipped on his sport coat and walked from his office to the garage with Maggie following.

"Buz is all set," Tod said. "I'll be in the parking lot next to the restaurant keeping an eye on the car and will follow it when they take it."

Jepson nodded. "Ok. You boys be careful."

"We will."

Tod drove on ahead to the parking lot next to the restaurant while Jepson went to the King to pick up Diane. A few minutes later Tod saw the Jag pull in to the restaurant parking lot and park. He had a clear view of it and watched as Jepson came around to the passenger side to open the door for Diane.

Tod looked away, not out of concern that she would see him from this distance but because he didn't necessarily want to see her, still being pretty burned up by what had happened. After she stepped from the car, Jepson closed the door and the two walked to the entrance of the restaurant.

Now came the waiting game. Tod lit a cigarette to pass the time and rested his arm on the open window of the Bel Air, flicking the ashes off to the side. The minutes passed. It had been a hot day in Atlanta and the early evening was unchanged. It was warm sitting in the car and Tod hoped Buz was okay in the trunk of the Jag. The more he thought about it this had to be one of the craziest things they'd ever done.

Fifteen minutes went by and Tod's cigarette was burned away. He crushed the remains into the Bel Air's ash tray and checked the time. He looked toward the Jag again and found himself getting impatient.

Buz was getting irritated too. Folded up like a lawn chair in the trunk, it was dark, it was hot and he was starting to get uncomfortable. He hated to think he and Tod went through all the trouble for their engraved invitation only to have their guests show up fashionably late.

After another five minutes, however, the guests finally arrived. Buz heard voices outside the car and the useless attempt to pull the door latch.

"We're not smashing the window this time," one voice said.

Across the way, Tod saw them too. One man each was on either side of the car, appearing casual enough like the car belonged to them. Tod thought he recognized Donnie and although he didn't know the other man, it was Stuart. Tod watched Stuart, on the driver's side of the car, remove some kind of tool from inside his suit jacket and work it along the window. In short order the door popped open.

Stuart slid behind the wheel and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. Donnie got into the car and within a few moments Stuart had the Jag hotwired and running.

Tod started up the Bel Air and watched the Jag leave the restaurant parking lot. The Jag passed him and the Bel Air rolled into traffic and followed.

Tod stayed back from the Jag, allowing another car to slip in in front of him. The parade of cars rolled along Peachtree Street, through the heart of downtown Atlanta which, like Times Square in New York, was crammed with buildings, billboards, oversized signs, neon which wasn't lit yet as it was too early in the evening, and a lot of people and traffic. The car in front of Tod eventually pulled off to another road and Tod hung back, keeping the Jag in his sight.

They continued southwest and it wasn't long before the buildings thinned out, and the landscape turned to commercials buildings, warehouses and empty lots with battered chain link fences. Traffic lightened up as well as most cars were pulling away toward Route 41 and heading south out of Atlanta.

Tod was starting to wonder where he, Buz and the Jag were going to end up. This really wasn't looking like a particularly nice section of Atlanta.

In the Jag, Stuart glanced in the rearview mirror. "I think we're being tailed."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Donnie replied, seeing the Bel Air in the passenger side mirror. "It looks like Stiles."

"Stiles? You sure?"

"No. But it's a good thing Doyle asked for insurance on this one."

As the Jag passed a side street, Donnie waved his hand, jerking his thumb back. A moment later, a box truck pulled out on to the road.

Tod slowed down as the truck took its sweet time turning into traffic. Finally, it straightened in the lane ahead of Tod and plodded along, slowly shifting gears and belching smoke.

Tod moved over to the right lane, figuring to pass the truck, only the truck decided it wanted to be in that lane. Tod hit the brakes and let the truck go ahead of him. He moved back to the left lane – and was cut off again.

To avoid the truck this time Tod crossed the double yellow line and went into oncoming traffic. The car coming at him blared its horn and Tod yanked the wheel further to the left, darting across the two lanes and into a side street.

He pulled to the side of the street to stop and got out of the car, hurrying back to the intersection. He looked to see the truck was rolling along now at a faster pace but Tod couldn't see the Jag anymore.

It couldn't have been too far ahead, he figured. Not giving up so easily, Tod hurried back to the car as a police car went past him, pulling ahead of the Bel Air. The police officer stepped from the patrol car and approached Tod.

"Just a minute," the officer said before Tod could get back into his car. "Could you step up on the side walk here…"

Tod did as asked and looked at the cop.

"So, couldn't decide what lane you wanted to be in?" the cop asked, his hands on his hips.

"The truck ahead of me cut me off. He's the one that couldn't decide what lane he wanted."

"Can I see your driver's license?"

Tod sighed and took his wallet out, removing his driver's license. He handed it to the cop.

The cop looked at it for a long moment, before looking up at Tod, who was looking antsy. "New York? You're a long way from home, boy."

"I don't live in New York anymore," Tod said.

"You live here in Atlanta now?"

"For the time being."

"Where?"

"Argonne Ave."

"That's over on the other side of town."

"Yes, sir."

"What are you doing over here?"

Tod clenched his jaw briefly. "I'm going to see a buddy to help me finish getting my car here ready for a race this weekend. And I'm _late._ "

"Well, you keep driving like what I saw you won't make it to the track." The cop handed the license back. "Maybe that's the kind of driving you do in New York but we don't tolerate road hogs here in Atlanta. Understood?"

Tod nodded. "Yes, sir."

Having delayed Tod long enough, and Tod couldn't be sure if it was legitimately or not, the officer returned to his patrol car and drove away. Tod climbed into the Bel Air and turned the Chevy around, heading back in the direction he had last seen the Jag heading.

A few blocks away, the Jaguar turned off the main road and down a crumbling street that twisted between ancient looking commercial buildings and warehouses with the only greenery that grew around them was weeds and crazy wild vines that wrapped around and choked only themselves. The Jag travelled over the old asphalt, causing Buz to bounce around in the trunk in the process.

The trip was short, thankfully. The conditions improved as the Jag turned into a drive and then disappeared into a warehouse.

The Jag was parked and the motor shut down. In the dark of the trunk, Buz listened as the two men exited the car and doors were closed. He held his breath, and held the flashlight in his hand for a weapon, half expecting the trunk to be forced open.

It wasn't. He heard the two men's voices trail off as they walked away from the car. He then heard the overhead door rattle as it was pulled closed.

There was silence. Buz remained still, listening for at least a minute. He then clicked on the flashlight and undid the wire that held the trunk lid closed, slipping it out of the hook and lifting the lid up slowly.

A stripe of waning sunlight cast a line across the far wall of the warehouse from the high windows. Buz carefully lifted the lid up further and rose up from the trunk, looking around. The warehouse appeared empty, of people anyway. There were various cars parked, some covered up and some looking to have been stripped of parts.

Buz clicked the flashlight off and climbed out of the trunk of the Jag, his stiffened muscles protesting. Standing up, he stretched and loosened up, pulling his damp shirt away from his skin and walked over to a car with its wheels gone and hood up. Inside the engine bay, several parts were missing.

There were two other cars that also had been stripped. On the far end, parked in a corner, however, was car with a cover on it. The shape looked familiar.

Buz stepped to the car and lifted the cover off the back corner. A light blue flank and single red tail lamp of a '60 Corvette was revealed. Buz smiled and threw the cover off the entire backside of the car. He clicked his flashlight on and checked the spot where that familiar scratch was. It was there, buffed and polished pretty well but still there. He patted the trunk lid, glad to have found the car.

Now to find where Tod was at, who Buz knew was going to be thrilled to find the Vette had been safely tucked away and not shipped off somewhere and sold.

Tod, meanwhile, had no idea where to even look. There were several warehouse properties along the stretch of road, the box truck that had cut him off was nowhere to be seen and the Jag…Lord only knew. He pulled into the lot of one warehouse and drove around to the back of it, only to find it empty. He returned to the street, drove on past properties that were busy with activity and pulled into another commercial property only to get four guys staring at him from a loading dock. Tod turned the Bel Air around and went back to the street, becoming discouraged.

"C'mon, Buz, where are you…"

Buz, meanwhile, was halfway across the warehouse expanse heading toward a side door when the overhead door suddenly started to rattle upward. Buz pivoted and ran to take cover behind the remaining hulk of a stripped car.

The door lifted up allowing Donnie and Stuart to enter along with a third heavier set man with light brown hair.

"Yeah, I got word from The Man," the third man, Monty, was saying. "He wants the rest of these cars stripped and out of here tonight. The Jag can be covered up for now, Stiles's Corvette is being shipping out Sunday during the race."

"Monty-" Donnie said, suddenly stopping mid stride and staring straight ahead at the Jag. Stuart and Monty looked and saw the trunk lid was up. Monty approached the car and saw the lock latch had been rigged.

"Looks like somebody's been messing with the Corvette too," Stuart said.

Monty turned to look and saw the cover was half off the sports car. He looked around the warehouse suddenly suspicious and his senses heightened. "Whoever it was might still be in here…" He stepped away from the Jag and picked up a tire iron that was on the floor next to a stripped car. Donnie and Stuart did likewise, spreading out and grabbing something to use as a weapon, a wrench, a screwdriver, whatever was handy.

Buz could see the men through the dusty window of the car he was crouched behind. The three to one odds were just a little discouraging, and the heavy artillery each man was carrying didn't help things any. The wide open overhead door looked like it was 50 miles away.

Buz figured his best chance was to try to make a break for it. He looked around the scattered parts that were on the floor and picked up a broken side mirror. Staying crouched behind the car he pitched it high and over, where it came down and broke through the back window of another chopped up car. All four men looked toward the car that had been hit and Buz made a run for it.

Monty saw him and spun around. "Hey!"

Buz made a beeline for the exit and all three men went running after him. Buz shot out of the warehouse and ran to the left, heading in the direction of the street.

"Hey!" Monty yelled. "Stop him!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Buz saw there were other men in the yard. He kept running, hell bent for the street. _Where the hell is Tod?!_

From behind him, Donnie caught up and tackled Buz down to the dirt and broken asphalt. The ground hit hard and Buz was stunned for a just a moment. The street instincts kicked in and adrenaline dulled the pain and fueled the fight. Buz wrestled with Donnie, rolling over the dirt and throwing him off.

Buz sprung to his feet to meet the next opponent, one of the other men Monty had yelled for in the yard, who tried to tackle him back down to the ground again. Buz blocked the hit, staying upright and came down on the guy's back with a two handed blow.

That dropped the guy to the ground but by that point Buz was out numbered about 6 to 1 as the other men caught up and surrounded him. He fought as he could, kicking and punching but the smack of the tire iron across his back from Monty brought things to a stop in short order.

Buz hit the ground face down. He tried to move to turn over, to keep fighting, but the blow had stunned him pretty good. Monty stepped over him and grabbed a fistful of Buz's shirt collar and yanked him over on to his back, pushing the curved end of the tire iron into Buz's neck.

Buz grabbed the tire iron to ease the pressure from his neck and he looked up at Monty.

"Awright," Monty said. "Who are ya?"

Buz didn't answer. Not that he had to, as Donnie now peered down between Monty and Stuart.

"That's Murdock," he said. "That's Stiles's buddy."

"So that _was_ Stiles that was tailing us," Stuart said.

"Yeah…"

"So this one musta been hiding in the trunk of the Jag," Monty said.

Stuart looked at Donnie grimly. "I'll let Doyle know." He turned and left the group.

Donnie was looking at Buz. "We lost Stiles," he said. "Now we gotta find out how we lose you. Get him up."

The men yanked Buz up off the ground and he was marched back to the warehouse.

Tod was three blocks away during Buz's escape attempt and going further in the wrong direction. Finally deciding the aimless wandering wasn't doing any good, he found his way back to Peachtree Street and headed north.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, bothered that he was leaving Buz behind. But not knowing where to look, not even knowing if Buz was still in the area, the best Tod could do at this point was return to Jepson's dealership and regroup.

Maggie was waiting and looked anxious when Tod came in to the garage.

"Your father back yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet," she replied. "Tod, what happened? Where's Buz?"

Tod sighed. "I lost him…"

Stuart called Doyle at the club and told him simply to come to the warehouse, that there was a problem. When Doyle arrived Stuart met him outside the door.

"What's the problem?" Doyle asked.

"Stiles tried to tail the Jag," Stuart said.

"So? You lost him right? Don't tell me you called me way down here for that?"

"Yeah, we lost him. But his buddy Murdock was hiding in the trunk…"

Doyle's expression darkened.

"We caught him, he's inside with Monty and Donnie."

Doyle nodded grimly. "Harold Jepson was driving the Jag, I suspect Stiles may be at his dealership. Find out where he is. Now."

Stuart nodded and headed off to another building. Doyle opened the door to the warehouse and went inside.

Buz was tied to a chair in the middle of the warehouse floor, with Monty and Donnie standing as sentries. Buz looked up as Doyle approached.

Doyle looked at Buz for a moment. Buz looked right back, showing no fear.

"You and your friend are pretty stupid, Mr. Murdock."

Buz shrugged. "Not so stupid as to put a stolen car on a dealership lot."

Doyle ignored the comment. "And what is it with this car?" he asked, leaning against the fender of a nearby car. "After all, it's just a car, not exactly something worth getting yourself killed over."

"It's not about the car anymore," Buz said.

"It's not?"

Buz shook his head. "It's all about you. You're a slug, Doyle. You've left a trail of slime all over Atlanta."

"A crusader," Doyle snorted, glancing at Monty and Donnie. "A foolish, noble crusader." He looked at Buz again. "What a bore. Shortly I'm going to find out where your friend is and I'm going to make him a deal. Not that it'll matter what option he takes because by this time Sunday, you both will be dead, your car will be sold and I'll have a buyer for the Jag by then too. And I will continue to leave my "trail" all over Atlanta as you say. You and your friend will never be seen again." Doyle looked at Monty and Donnie. "Bring him to the office."

Monty and Donnie pulled Buz up from the chair and they followed Doyle out of the warehouse.

Tod waited at Jepson's dealership until Mr. Jepson returned. He paced the garage floor, smoking a cigarette, worrying.

He jumped when the phone rang. Maggie answered it. It was her father, letting her know he was on his way back.

"Tod is here," Maggie said into the phone. "No… just Tod…" She looked at Tod as she spoke. "We'll tell you when you get here, Papa…"

About fifteen minutes later, Jepson returned. He rushed into the office and saw the worried expression on Tod's face. "What happened?"

"I lost Buz," Tod said. "A truck cut me off in traffic and then I was detained by a cop for a while. I don't know where the Jag ended up."

"Oh no. If they find Buz…"

"I don't even want to think about it."

"Maybe he'll escape," Maggie said hopefully. "If he hasn't already."

Jepson shook his head. "I never should have let you boys do this," he said. "It was crazy from the start. And you can bet that truck cutting you off was no accident. Now your friend may end up dead, you'll run that damn fool race on Sunday and probably get yourself killed too!"

"Papa, please…"

"Oh it's not that I don't appreciate what you fellas were trying to do but I'd rather lose my dealership than see anybody hurt," Jepson said. "I'd give it up right now to get your friend back."

"Buz would tell you no," Tod said. "But I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing as you."

Jepson nodded. "I'm sorry Tod. Look, maybe we should go to the police, tell them what's happened what you boys were trying to do. The whole police department can't be in Doyle's back pocket."

"Question is, who do we trust? How do we know which cop _isn't_ on Doyle's payroll?"

"Argh, Tod…" Jepson gave a frustrated sigh.

In an office across from the warehouse, Buz waited with Doyle, Monty and Donnie. Doyle was perched on the edge of a metal desk while Buz sat, his hands bound behind him with Monty and Donnie seated nearby. Stuart returned and gave Doyle the report.

"Stiles is at Jepson's dealership as of 10 minutes ago."

Doyle nodded. He reached for the black telephone on the desk and turned it to face him, lifting the receiver and dialing the number. He then looked at Buz.

"We'll see which has more value to your friend. The car, or you."

"This is crazy," Jepson was saying. "There's gotta be a cop we can find!" Any further argument with Tod was suddenly interrupted by the ringing telephone. The three of them all jumped and Mr. Jepson lunged to the phone and lifted the receiver.

"Hello? Buz, is this you?"

"No," Doyle said. "But I know where he is. Let me speak to Mr. Stiles please."

Jepson blanched and looked at Tod, holding the phone out to him.

"Who is it?" Tod asked quietly.

Jepson shook his head. "They said they know where Buz is."

Tod lifted the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"You have a choice, Mr. Stiles. Your car or your buddy. But you can't have both."

"Mr. Doyle?"

"That's right."

"Look, let Buz go. You can keep the car."

"Oh no, not that easy. If you want your buddy back you'll have to work for it. I hear you're entered in the Skull Cracker on Sunday."

"Yeah…?"

"If you win the race Mr. Stiles, you'll win back your friend. But if you lose, I get you and him both. And I dispense with the two of you, and your car, however I see fit."

" _Don't do it Tod!_ " Buz called from somewhere in the background. " _Cut your losses, get out of here-!_ "

There was sudden muffling on the phone and Doyle's inaudible voice was commanding something. Tod closed his eyes, relieved Buz was alive but otherwise distraught at the situation. There was another shout from Buz again and then the ruckus faded as Doyle came back on the line.

"That's the deal, Mr. Stiles. Or you can do like your friend says and get out now, leaving me to sell your car, and your friend, to the highest bidder."

Tod let out a slow breath. He could afford to lose the car at this point, but there was no way he could abandon Buz to the wolves. "Ok," he said. "You've got a deal."

"See you Sunday, kid…"

Tod hung up the phone and Jepson put a hand on his shoulder. "What deal? What did you just _do_?"

"If I win the race on Sunday I get Buz back."

"And if you lose?"

Tod looked at Mr. Jepson. "Then Doyle keeps Buz and gets me…"


	7. Lives Stolen

After doing her show for the night, and her obligatory appearance at the lounge bar to sign autographs, Diane returned to her dressing room with her drink. She sat down in front of her vanity and heaved a sigh. Doing the early supper date to set up another car to be stolen, then doing her show, had made for a long evening. And poor Mr. Jepson. Sweet man who took the theft of the car pretty hard.

He really had been very sweet…. She shook her head and picked up her glass to take a drink. _Here I go again,_ she thought.

Truthfully, playing the tantalizing bait for car theft was starting to get old. She was tiring of the game. And she was especially growing weary of the same old routine every week. The only time she felt right was when she was on the stage singing. But when the show ended and the lights came up, the reality was becoming more and more harsh.

She sighed and pushed the thoughts from her mind. It was late and she was tired. She carefully removed her earrings and unclasped her necklace.

In the back alley of the nightclub, a car pulled up. Donnie, Monty and Stuart all stepped out and then Buz was pulled out of the backseat. His hands were bound behind him and he'd been gagged since his outburst during Doyle's phone call to Tod. He was pushed along to the back door.

Although her door was shut, Diane heard the racket in the hall as the men came in. Buz wasn't one to go quietly and he gave Monty and Donnie a struggle as they shoved him toward a dressing room door. He was pushed into the dark room and the door was slammed shut.

Diane moved to her door and listened.

"I don't like that we brought him here," Monty said. "We shoulda left him at the warehouse."

"And give him a chance to escape and take the Corvette with him?" Stuart said. "No way. Silas said to bring him here so we can keep an eye on 'em until Sunday…"

Diane heard the men go past her door and she waited a moment before opening it. The hall was empty and across from her the door to one of the spare dressing rooms was closed, but she could hear somebody rustling around in there.

Diane wasn't sure what was going on. She stepped across the hall and listened at the other door. Her hand lingered at the door knob and then turned it.

In the dark of the room, Buz sat still looking toward the door and the sliver of light from the hall. The door opened wider and the light of the room was turned on.

Diane gasped seeing Buz on his knees in the middle of the floor, with a gag around his mouth and his hands bound behind him. He looked over at her and tried to say her name through the gag.

She shut the door and came over to him. "Buz… what in the world?" She untied the gag that was around his mouth and pulled it away.

"Doyle put you up to this too?" he asked. "Comforting his prisoners?"

"What are you talking about? Buz, what's going on?"

"Did you have a nice dinner date tonight? Too bad that Jag got stolen eh?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Because I was hiding in the trunk."

Diane stared at him, the implications becoming clear now. "Oh Buz…" She shook her head. "You didn't…"

"Yeah, we did. Tod and I set it up, with a little help from Harold Jepson."

"Was Tod…caught too?"

"Would that make much difference to you?"

Diane avoided Buz's dark eyed gaze and stood up.

Buz watched her. "You like stock car racing, Diane? Tod's driving in one this Sunday. If he wins he saves me. If he loses, well, then Tod and I both lose. If Tod's smart, he'll get out of Atlanta while he can. But I know him…and he won't. He'll run that race and get himself killed."

Diane knew this all too well. "Why?" she blurted. "Why did you have to go and do this?! Was Tod's car worth that much?!"

"No, but seeing the people who've had their lives stolen by Silas Doyle was worth it. People like you…"

"Stolen? I haven't had anything stolen! If it wasn't for Silas I'd be stuck back in Savannah."

"If it wasn't for Silas you'd be off to New York or California by now, making records. Yeah, maybe he got you your start, but he'll never let you have your finish."

"Oh shut up!" Buz's words were truth and they hurt like hell. "Just… shut up!" She picked up the gag and tied it back around Buz's mouth again. With tears in her eyes she hurried to the door, shutting the light off and closing the door on him.

Putting Buz in the dark and keeping him imprisoned in the room didn't change what was happening. Diane knew what would happen to him, and to Tod. She ran back to her dressing room, closing the door and broke down, bawling.

Tod returned to Mrs. Gebhardt's late, long after she had turned in for the evening and he was right back up early Saturday morning, before she was and was out of the house. He left a note, saying that he and Buz had a lot of work to do on the car to get it ready for the race on Sunday. He couldn't face the sweet woman and try to lie about where Buz was, or worse, try to explain what had really happened. It was going to be just as bad trying to explain Buz's absence to Vernon Tate and his friends when they showed up at Jepson's dealership to help with the exhaust swap.

Tod pulled into Jepson's lot and parked in front of the garage stall that he and Buz had been using. He unlocked the stall door and then moved the Bel Air inside. He was the only one at the dealership so early in the morning and he didn't exactly have a lot to do to keep himself busy until Vern showed up, which would be sometime around eight.

Since he skipped breakfast at Mrs. Gebhardt's, he started his day with a cigarette, hoping it would calm his nerves a bit. He had hardly slept the night before. He stood outside the garage, where the morning sun shined brightly and wondered how did he and Buz get into this mess? More than that, how the hell were they going to get out of it? He paced in and out of the garage, lost in his thoughts. Tod knew his chances of winning that stock car race on Sunday were somewhere between slim and forget-about-it. And Doyle was no fool. Even if Tod did somehow miraculously win, he and Buz weren't going to be allowed to just walk away.

When the cigarette was finished, Tod crushed it out in an ashtray in the garage. It was six-thirty and he'd drive himself nuts if he didn't find something to occupy himself with. He lifted the hood of the Bel Air and went to work checking the timing.

Around seven, Mr. Jepson and Maggie arrived. Tod saw them out of the corner of his eye as he leaned over the whirring engine bay and pulled the throttle.

"What'd you do? Stay here all night?" Jepson asked after the engine settled down.

"No, I've been here since about six." Tod straighten up and slipped into the driver's seat to shut the car down.

"Why so early?"

"I couldn't face Mrs. Gebhardt, the lady we're boarding with, and try to explain where Buz was at. I didn't sleep much last night."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No."

Jepson turned to his daughter and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. He slipped out a few bills. "Maggie, go down to Pickford's and get a couple of those ham and egg sandwiches and some coffee."

Maggie smiled and nodded, accepting the money. "Yes, Papa." She turned and hurried off.

Jepson turned back to Tod as the young man stepped out of the car and closed the door. "Aren't you supposed to have a number or something on there?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to either paint it on or use decals."

Jepson nodded. "And I've seen pictures of stock car racers, they usually have the name of their sponsor splashed on the back quarter panel."

"Yeah. I don't have a sponsor though."

"Sure ya do."

Tod looked at him. Jepson smiled.

"Mr. Jepson, with all that's going on you want to put your business name on this car as a sponsor?"

"Why not? Doyle already knows I'm mixed up with you two. Might as well rub his nose in it a little."

Tod's half smile was sad.

Jepson patted him on the shoulder and then walked with him back toward the office.

Maggie returned with the coffee and breakfast sandwiches and the three ate in the office. Jepson explained that Maggie could do the lettering and decals for Tod's car, as she had done some of the advertising signs and window art for the dealership. She was more than happy to do so for Tod's car.

When Vern Tate and his friends arrived at Jepson's dealership a little after 8, they were fired up and raring to go to get Tod's car ready for the race the next day. Tod hated having to put a damper on their enthusiasm especially when Vern asked where Buz was at.

"He's…not here." Tod paused.

Vern looked at Tod already sensing something was wrong. The shift of the vibe in the room was obvious and even Vern's buddies had quieted. "Mistah Stiles, where is he?"

"Doyle has him."

Vern waited for an explanation.

"We set up another car as bait," Tod explained. "Figured we could find where cars were being kept, maybe find the Vette. Buz got caught."

Vern's buddies all glanced at each other and at him. They knew, as did Vern, that the stakes had suddenly gotten very high.

"You're still runnin' the race?" Vern asked.

"Doyle says if I win, I get Buz back. But if I lose…I lose everything."

Vern slowly shook his head. "Mistah Stiles, you'll never finish that race, you realize that?"

"What else can I do? I can't just walk away, I can't abandon Buz."

"Naw, I know that. But you get out on that track you'll be racin' to yer own death. Doyle won't let you win, he won't even let you finish. You n' Mistah Murdock both are good as dead right now."

Tod closed his eyes and drew a breath.

"Tod…" Mr. Jepson said. "Maybe we should go to the police."

Vern shook his head. "Ain't no cop in this town worth trustin', Mr. Jepson. Doyle's got too much influence, there ain't no way to tell who to trust."

"He's right," Tod said. "Buz and I are strangers in Atlanta, I wouldn't know who to go to. I was detained last night by a cop when I was trying to tail the Jag. I had a cop pay me a visit last week, a police captain, tried to warn me off from getting the Vette back. A _captain_. How high up could Doyle's reach go?" Tod paused, looking at the faces that looked back at him. "Look, despite the thin chance I have to win that race, let alone finish it, that's nothing compared to the dying I'd do if I just leave Buz behind. I've been all over the country with him, we've been to hell and back. There's been times he's driven me nuts and I've thought of leaving him at the next bus stop but I haven't. And I won't." Tod looked at Vern. "So let's get to work."

Vern nodded. "You got it." He turned to his buddies. "You heard da man…"

Diane awoke late on Saturday morning after a fitful night of sleep. Even another glass of scotch when she had come home from the club hadn't helped to dull her mind. She thought of Buz being held hostage and Tod who would run that race and…

She knew. She had heard stories over the years about the Skull Cracker race. It was so named for Silas Doyle's own moonshining history and had been something of a testing ground for drivers for Doyle's operation. It also had earned its name in the literal sense as several drivers had been hurt over the years and Diane knew of at least two that had died in a horrific wrecks.

Accidents they were called. Nobody would ever know for sure and for Tod it would be no different.

"…. _lives stolen by Silas Doyle…_ " Buz's words haunted her. Doyle _had_ stolen so much from people. He'd stolen plenty from her.

No matter how tight she closed her eyes or pulled the covers over her head it didn't stop the cycle of images in her mind, the freckle faced innocence of Tod, the warning voice of Buz ringing in her ears and the darkening realization that her own indifference was merely the lock on her cage built by Silas Doyle.

She threw the covers off and sat up in bed, the tears coming again. She had limited options as to what to do and neither one was easy.

But only one felt "right."

Although Jepson's garage had a hydraulic lift, the Bel Air sat lifted up on jack stands while the exhaust swap was done which allowed Maggie to work on painting the numbers on the doors and the lettering on the rear quarter panels.

The exhaust needed to be done before 4 o'clock, which was when the qualifying times were being run. For all the talk there had been about Tod possibly not finishing the race, he still had to qualify to even run the thing in the first place.

A little after noon time, Maggie had the number, 44, painted on the doors and only needed to finish the lettering on the right rear quarter panel when the racing exhaust was completely welded in and ready to be tested. The car remained up on the jack stands and Tod climbed in behind the wheel. Mr. Jepson came out of his office and Maggie stepped away from the car to stand with her father.

"This is gonna be pretty loud, folks, so be ready," Vern said to the Jepsons. He then looked at Tod. "Ok, Mistah Stiles, fire 'er up."

Tod turned the key and the engine fired right up followed quickly by a sudden crack of thunder within the garage. Maggie flinched at the noise and then laughed and Vern and his racing buddies hooted and hollered when Tod revved the engine and the Bel Air roared with each press of the throttle.

Tod then let the Chevy compose itself down to a healthy sounding rumble and Vern and his cousin checked underneath the car for any exhaust leaks.

Vern's cousin flashed a thumbs up and Vern relayed the message to Tod. The car was shut down.

"Yer good to go Mistah Stiles," Vern said. "She's gonna fly for ya now."

Tod grinned. "Thanks, Vern. I appreciate the help, from all of you." He stepped out of the car and looked at his watch. "And with time to spare."

"Just enough time for me to finish the lettering!" Maggie said.

Later that afternoon at The King, Diane came in a little later than usual. Her appointment for doing that 'one right option' has been long and exhausting. She'd be a hero, she was told. She didn't care about being a hero, she just wanted the nightmare over with.

Halfway across the lounge, Stuart caught up to her. "Where you been?" he asked.

His question was casual with no accusation implied but given the company Diane had just been with, who would not have been approved by Doyle, she was startled. "I…slept late," she replied. "And I had a lot of errands to catch up on."

Stuart nodded. "Silas is looking for you. Got something he wants you to do."

Diane sighed. "Not another car is it?"

"No. We have a guest he'd like you to join with for an early supper."

Diane felt the knot tighten in her stomach. "Guest?" she said.

"He'll tell you all about it." Stuart turned and disappeared to another section of the club leaving Diane momentarily dumbfounded in the middle of the empty lounge.

Maggie finished up the lettering just before three o'clock. No longer legal for the street due to the exhaust, the car was loaded on to the trailer Vern and his friends had arrived with and they headed off to the track.

They arrived with just enough time to get the racing tires on and make a few last minute adjustments on the car before seeing Tod off on to the track to do his qualifying run. When it was all over, Tod qualified 12th out of a 22 car field.

The car was trailered back to Jepson's dealership and Vern recommended keeping the car under lock and key for the night to discourage any sabotage attempts. Tod agreed and Mr. Jepson concurred, happily locking the Chevy up in the garage stall Tod had been using to work on it.

Vern and his friends would meet Tod at the dealership the next morning to trailer the car back to the track and get set up for the race with fuel and tires. They bid Tod good night, each man just a little subdued knowing just exactly what the stakes were with this race.

Mr. Jepson thought of this too, but pushed the thought aside for the time being. He offered to drive Tod back to the boarding house.

When they pulled up to the end of the driveway, Tod looked and saw the lights on and knew there was no avoiding Mrs. Gebhardt this time.

He paused, not exiting the car just yet. "I didn't really sleep last night," he said. "So I…packed my suitcase up and Buz's too. I'll take them with me in the morning. I didn't want her to have to tend to that."

Jepson just looked at Tod sadly. Even Maggie, ever the cheerleader, couldn't find an encouraging word.

Tod looked at Mr. Jepson. "Thanks for all you've done, Mr. Jepson. I don't know if I'll get a chance to say much tomorrow so, I'll say it now."

Jepson nodded. "I wish I could do more, Tod. I wish you didn't have to run that damn race."

Tod nodded and looked back at Maggie. "You did a nice job on the car, Maggie. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said softly.

"I'll see you in the morning," Tod said. He opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Jepson and his daughter watched him walk up to the house. Maggie put a hand on her father's shoulder. "Papa…"

He reached up with his hand and touched hers. "I know…" he said.

When Tod walked into the house, Mrs. Gebhardt was waiting in the living room. He could have easily just slipped up the stairs and not said anything, not looked. But he looked, and there was no avoiding her, especially once he saw the concerned look on her face. He stepped into the living room.

"How did it go?" she asked. "The racing today?"

With all the dire thoughts in his head, the question caught Tod off guard. "Oh, I qualified for the race tomorrow."

"That is good." She paused. "Are you boys planning to join the racing circuit?"

It would have been so easy to lie to her right then and there. _Yeah, Buz and I have this great opportunity. We'll be leaving after the race tomorrow…_ Tod met her gaze and just could not lie to her. He shook his head. "No."

"I saw your suitcases were all packed up. I thought maybe…"

Tod came over and sat down in a chair near the couch where Mrs. Gebhardt sat. "I wish it was something like that," he said. "And even if I said it was, I think you'd know I was lying." He paused. "Buz and I are in trouble. A lot of trouble. You probably won't see either of us again after this."

She shook her head. "Oh I had such terrible feeling. I knew something was wrong. It is that man, the one that stole your car?"

Tod nodded. "It's not even about the car anymore. He's done so many awful things to a lot of people. Buz and I thought we could even things up a bit."

"Where is Buz?"

"I don't know…"

"He is dead?!"

"No…" _Not yet._

"Oh Tod! This is awful! What about the police? Can't you go to the police?"

"You remember the police officer that came here last week?"

"Yes?"

"Would you trust him?"

"Oh Lord…"

"Mrs. Gebhardt, I wanted to spare you most of this. At least, as much as I could. I packed everything up to take with me tomorrow because I didn't want to burden you with it. You've been very kind to me and Buz since we've been here…" Tod chuckled softly. "I think I've put on ten pounds since we've been staying with you." His smile then faded. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Gebhardt."

She shook her head. "This is wrong. This is so wrong, you boys don't deserve this. That man, he will kill you won't he? All for a car?"

"If I could trade the car for Buz's life and mine, I'd do it. But it's beyond the car now. Doyle plays for keeps. Unfortunately, Buz and I do too."

News of Tod's qualifying run had reached The King nightclub by 6pm, where Silas Doyle was sitting at one of the far side tables of the lounge with Diane, who was trying not to look nervous. Although the club was open, the lounge was only half full with people at this hour. She looked up with Doyle as Donnie approached the table.

"The qualifying runs are done," Donnie said. "Stiles starts twelfth."

Doyle nodded. "Not bad. And he's never run a stock car race before?"

"Apparently not. But he ran that track like he's been doing it all his life."

"Hm. Damn shame. With the right persuasion and a little teaching sounds like he could have been a racer or a runner for me." Doyle shrugged. "See that everything's taken care of tomorrow eh?"

Donnie nodded. "Will do." He walked away.

Diane looked across the table at Doyle. "What do you mean he _could_ have been a runner for you?"

Doyle smirked. "Just what I said." He studied her a moment. "You would have liked that too, wouldn't you?"

Diane lowered her gaze. "It'd be better than what you're planning to do to him tomorrow," she said.

Doyle chuckled. "My business bothers you now all of a sudden. I guess ignorance truly is bliss."

"Yeah, I was better off not knowing," she shot back. "So why the grandstand play here? This 'last supper' for Buz? Why do I have to be here?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Doyle looked across the lounge toward one of the bouncers, Dusty, and gave a nod. Dusty and another bouncer headed to the back dressing rooms where Buz was still being held.

A few moments later Buz was brought out through the lounge, free of any restraints but the bouncers on each side of him half marched, half dragged him across the lounge toward Doyle and Diane's table.

Once there, Buz was shoved down into a chair. He paused, looking at Doyle and then Diane before returning his gaze to Doyle. The two bouncers stood guard just behind his chair. Doyle dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Buz looked behind him as the bouncers walked away.

"Don't bother thinking you can make a run for it Mr. Murdock, my boys will be covering all the exits. And although the crowd in the lounge at this hour is small, I'm sure you'd prefer not to risk anyone getting hurt because of your foolishness. Especially Miss Victoria."

Buz turned back to the table and glared at Doyle. "To what do I owe this dishonor?" he asked. "If you're looking for confession you can forget it because I'm not feeling very chatty."

"Are you hungry, Mr. Murdock?" Doyle asked.

"So?"

"Well, I thought perhaps you'd like to dine in the presence of more pleasant company tonight, unless you like lukewarm burgers and cold French fries."

"What French fries?"

"There, see? Tonight, no food will be taken away from you."

"You're all heart."

Doyle raised a hand and signaled to someone somewhere else in the lounge. He then turned his attention back to Buz. "To be honest, Mr. Murdock, I simply wanted to talk to you."

"You coulda done that in the back room you got me in and brought your own two by four instead of going to all this trouble. Because I already know what you're going to say. This is where you make me an alternate offer, to do something in exchange for Tod not getting himself killed in that race tomorrow."

Doyle gave a snort. "Why would I do that?"

"Because Tod and I had the brass tacks to come after you. Two strangers, Yanks no less, came in and kicked the sand in your sandbox. You don't like it but you respect it on a certain level."

Doyle raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Well, you're half right. I can admit to a certain level of respect for what you and your friend tried to do, but there will be no bargaining for a separate peace. Your friend will not finish that race tomorrow, that's just the way it has to be."

"To save face?" Buz said. "Who was the dummy that put the car on your lot?"

"That issue has been corrected. You and Mr. Stiles are just a couple of lose threads to be pulled and discarded. It's business, Mr. Murdock, I suspect you understand that."

"Sure. What I don't dig is _this_ ," Buz looked at the table, where food was now being delivered.

"Your last supper, as it were."

"Wonderful. I hope Tod at least got a free beer out of this."

"Mr. Stiles was allowed to qualify for the race this afternoon – without any interference. That is the extent of my courtesy for him. I'm told he'll be starting 12th out of a 22 car field."

There was a pause in the conversation, as plates with steak and vegetables were placed down before each of them at the table and wine was poured into glasses. Warm dinner rolls in a basket were placed in the middle of the table.

Diane lifted her fork and began to poke at the veggies. Buz made no move to eat right away, although the dish did smell good. Nothing was spoken until the servers left.

Buz looked at Doyle who was cutting into his steak. "What if he hadn't made it?"

"The ending would still be the same, although… he would probably be here dining with us this evening before I send the two of you off on a very long journey." Doyle glanced at Diane. "The world is full of disappointments."

Buz looked at Diane, who avoided his gaze and then back to Doyle again. "Not that I don't mind the pleasant company but why are you subjecting her to all this?"

"Well… even Judas dined with Jesus before He was crucified."

Diane looked up at Doyle now. Buz glanced at her and then turned back to Doyle, who was fishing in his jacket pocket for something. He came up with a diamond tennis bracelet and tossed it into the middle of the table.

Diane and Buz both looked at it. Diane recognized it as the bracelet she had worn, and lost, the night Tod's car was stolen. The same bracelet Tod had seen her wearing afterwards and had figured out she had set him up for the steal.

Buz knew this too and he looked from the bracelet to Doyle.

"Tell me Mr. Murdock," Doyle continued, "how did you and your friend figure out that I had anything to do with the stealing of your Corvette?"

"You were dumb enough to put it on the sales lot of your dealership."

Doyle shook his head. "That wouldn't make you suspicious that I stole it, only that I dealt in stolen vehicles. That my salesmen would look the other way if someone were to bring in such a vehicle to trade for something else. Not that I do that but that more likely would be the initial suspicion. No, that's not when you figured it out. Tell me when you figured it out."

Buz said nothing. It appeared Doyle already knew anyway and Buz wasn't going to agree to throw Diane to the wolves.

"Wasn't it when your friend saw Diane here at the club after the car was stolen, wearing the very bracelet she had lost in his car that night? Wasn't it when your friend had a heated discussion with Diane upon seeing this diamond bracelet back on her wrist again and demanding to know why she had set him up?"

Diane blanched. Although she had never come out and said directly to Tod that she had set him up, she had thought she spoke cryptically enough, and _hushed_ enough, not be overheard.

Doyle looked at her. "The bouncers aren't just there for your protection, Diane, they're there for mine too." He looked at Buz again. "She betrayed you and your friend. Actually…she betrayed both of us."

"I'm not sorry she betrayed you," Buz said.

"I didn't figure you would be. Nonetheless, her betrayal of me comes with a price that you and your friend will be paying for. Unfortunately. I've come to learn that loyalty is sometimes too easily earned but betrayal is always such a hard price to bear." Doyle lifted his wine glass and held it toward Diane. "To loyalty."

Diane hesitated and then wordlessly lifted her own glass to chime with Doyle's. Buz offered no such salute. When Doyle's toast was finished, Buz then raised his own wine glass.

"To betrayal."

Doyle snorted as Buz drank to the solitary toast. "You should eat Mr. Murdock. Tomorrow will be a very long day."

"Yeah, it will be…" Buz reached to the dinner rolls and took one. "For this I'll give thanks," he said as he broke the roll in half. He then placed both pieces on Diane's plate. "This is my body, and Tod's, which is given for you." His dark eyes met Diane's. "Do this in remembrance of us…"


	8. The Race

At the track the next morning, Tod, Vern, Mitch and the rest of Vern's friends who would serve as Tod's pit crew pulled into the garage area in Vern's pickup truck with the Bel Air on a trailer behind it. The car was unloaded and moved into the garage stall and the men went to work preparing for the race.

Race time wasn't until 1:30pm, but there was plenty to prepare for before then. Although the race had a notorious reputation, it was a semi-legit sanctioned race, which meant there would be an inspection of the car prior to the race by an official and Tod was to report to a mandatory driver's meeting at 11:15 am.

While drivers and crews were busy readying their cars, spectators for the race started filling into the stands throughout the morning serenaded by a live band playing country music near the start/finish line. At the far end of the infield, near turns one and two, several pickup trucks with tag-a-long campers were parked, belonging to drivers and crews who had traveled quite a distance to enter Silas Doyle's race.

One such GMC truck with a silver Airstream trailer behind it pulled into the corral and found a spot to park. Donnie and Stuart exited the cab of the truck and walked to the door of the Airstream. Donnie opened it and inside, on the floor in front of the bench seat, bound and gagged, was Buz. He looked at them.

Donnie stepped in to check the ropes and found they were still tight. "Enjoy the race," he said and gave Buz a smack on the shoulder. Buz glared at him. Donnie exited the trailer and shut the door.

At quarter to twelve, Tod returned to the garage area after the driver's meeting. The inspections would begin at noon sharp.

"She's all set, Mistah Stiles," Vern said.

Tod nodded. "Thanks, Vern. Now we wait." Tod slipped his fingers into his shirt pocket, removed his pack of cigarettes and tapped one out.

"Coupla Doyle's guys walked by here a few minutes ago."

Tod lit his cigarette and took a drag. He looked at Vern as he flicked out the match. "What do they want to do? Kill me in the garage?"

"Not if we got something to say about it," Vern replied.

"I just wish I knew Buz was ok, for the time being. If he's already… gone then there's no point of me even going out on that track."

"Of course there's still a reason for you to go out on that track," Donnie's voice spoke from behind the two men.

Tod and Vern turned around, facing Donnie and Stuart. The other men in the garage all casually gathered behind Tod and Vern.

"Your friend is fine," Donnie continued. "For the time being."

"I want to know he's fine. I want to see him."

"The inspections will be starting soon. You've got a race to get ready for."

"I'm not getting behind that wheel or going out on that track unless I see or hear for myself that Buz is still alive. As slim of a chance I have to win the race, and even slimmer the chances that Buz and I will see tomorrow, I'll take. But if he's already gone, we can forget the song and dance."

"You have our word," Stuart said.

"Which means nothing to me," Tod said. "No Buz, no race. Doyle will have to figure out another way to finish me off."

Donnie and Stuart glanced at each other. "We'll check with the man," Stuart said. "See what he says." He and Donnie turned and walked away.

Vern looked at Tod grimly.

"You think he's already gone, don't you?" Tod asked.

"Maybe. Doyle ain't expectin' you t' finish the race, he ain't got much reason to hang on to Mistah Murdock."

Up in the skybox above the start/finish line, Silas Doyle was mingling with about a dozen guests consisting of local Atlanta businessmen and various representatives of racing teams. The telephone rang in the background and was answered. A moment later, Monty came up unobtrusively next to Doyle and spoke softly in his ear.

Doyle paused to listen and his expression remained unchanged. He then smiled at the two businessmen he had been talking with and excused himself. He and Monty stepped away from the crowd and stood near the door of the skybox.

"Stuart says Stiles won't run the race unless he knows Murdock is still alive. Wants to see him."

"Murdock's in the corral?"

Monty nodded.

Doyle paused. "Let him see him. Not like there's much he can do about it at this point anyway."

"You still want somebody watching the camper?"

"Yeah. I don't think any of Mr. Stiles's friends could try to bust Murdock out during the race, but if they do I want somebody there to stop them."

Monty nodded. "Ok. I'll let Stuart know."

A little after twelve, Stuart returned to Tod's garage stall alone and crooked a finger at the blond.

"You can see him," Stuart said. He then glanced at Vern and a couple of the other boys who were now watching. "But just you."

Tod turned to Vern, who was giving as bad of a stink eye to Stuart as he could. "Go ahead Mistah Stiles," Vern said. "We'll take care of the inspection."

Tod nodded and followed Stuart down the garage road with Vern watching as they went.

The two men walked to the far end of the garage area and on to the access road to the corral. Not a word was spoken as they rounded a trailer and walked along the path, past more trailers and campers. When they arrived at the parked brown GMC truck with the Airstream behind it, Donnie was already there sitting on the steps of the Airstream.

He stood up as Stuart and Tod approached. Tod looked around the area and could see the top of the banking for turn one and two just beyond the corral. "I see you let Buz have the best seat in the house," he said.

Donnie smirked. "He's fortunate he's here at all." He pulled open the trailer door.

Buz was still sitting on the floor, bound and gagged. He saw Tod and his dark eyes reflected sudden concern.

Although Tod was relieved to see Buz was still alive, he frowned at the bounds and gag. "Is all that really necessary? You could at least let him watch the race."

"He'll be able to hear it on the PA," Donnie said and pointed toward one of the speakers set up on a pole not too far away in the middle of the corral. "Besides, why would he want to watch you come in _dead_ last…?" Donnie slammed the door shut and looked at Tod. "Now if you get any crazy ideas to have any of your friends try to come and bust him out of here, you can forget it. Because I'm going to be sitting here through the whole race with this…" Donnie picked up a folded newspaper from the steps and opened it up to show Tod the .38 pistol that was wrapped inside. "I don't take you for the kinda guy that would want to see anybody else get hurt."

Tod looked at the gun and then looked hard at Donnie. Yeah, he got the message.

"Now that you've seen your friend and know he's alive," Stuart said, "you best be getting back and finish preparing for the race, Mr. Stiles."

Tod glanced at the Airstream one more time before turning and walking away.

When he got back to the garage, Vern and the boys were waiting.

"You're all passed on the inspection," Vern said and pointed to the racing association's decal that had been put on the front fender of the Bel Air. "Mistah Murdock ok?"

"For now. They've got him tied up in a camper over in the corral park."

"He's here on the grounds?" Vern said. "That's kinda brassy."

"Maybe we can get him out of there during the race?" Mitch said.

"There'll be a guy guarding it with a .38 and I've already been warned about not having any of you try to bust him out during the race."

Vern looked at Tod for a moment. "Are you telling us not to try to get Mistah Murdock out of there?"

"I never said such a thing…"

Vern grinned. "Where is he in the corral Mistah Stiles…?"

By 12:30 the stands were a little over half full with folks still coming in. Silas Doyle's cruiser bruiser race brought out people from all over Georgia and other parts of the South, who came to watch what one Atlanta sports writer had dubbed an 'amateur monstrosity, nothing more than a high speed demolition derby.' Nonetheless, there were plenty of people willing to travel the distance and pay the money to watch the speed, side by side racing and, of course, the sometimes spectacular crashes. Gladiator spectacles of Roman times that drew large crowds now simply existed clothed in Detroit steel.

Harold Jepson and his daughter, Maggie, paid for their tickets and made their way into the grandstand along the front stretch, finding seats. Maggie shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the cars as they were starting to line up on the front stretch. She spotted the blue number 44 Chevrolet as it was coming up to the line. "There he is Papa!" she said and pointed.

Jepson looked and nodded. "I see him…" There was a moment of pride seeing the Bel Air with his business's name prominently displayed on the rear flank, mixed with a shot of fear.

Down at the bottom of the grandstand at the fence, Atlanta police captain David McGrath stood with two other plain clothed policemen. From behind his Wayfarer sunglasses, McGrath silently observed the cars, the drivers and other individuals who were on the front stretch at that moment.

McGrath and the handful of plain clothes officers he brought with him were not part of the crowd control detail, that function being handled by uniformed officers from Atlanta and other surrounding towns. And although he had a particular interest in the number 44 Chevrolet, he wasn't there as a spectator either.

By 1pm, the twenty-two cars that would be running the race were lined up on the front stretch, with each car's driver standing by their machines. Tod's Bel Air was on the inside of the sixth row and he and Vern stood by the car as the PA announcer did the driver introductions.

" _And in the sixth row, on the inside, a newcomer to the Skull Cracker… hailing from Hartford, Connecticut, driving the Jepson Auto Sales Incorporated Chevrolet, let's give a warm Atlanta welcome to number 44, Tod Stiles!"_

Tod waved and received a polite cheer from the crowd. Other drivers, local lead foots who had more recognition from the crowd, received sometimes raucous applause. Tod looked at each of the drivers as they were introduced and wondered which of them worked for or were otherwise indebted to Silas Doyle. Any one of them he figured would be looking to push him right off the track.

When the introductions were done, the drivers all climbed into their racers.

" _These twenty-two drivers will duke it out for 125 miles for a shot at a piece of the nearly $15,000 in prize money put up today by Silas Doyle and the Doyle Chevrolet dealerships that have sponsored this event for over the past five years. Only the first place winner walks away with the $5000 top prize with the remaining top five winners fighting for a $2500, $2000, $1500 and $1000 prizes. Everybody else … well, nobody goes home empty handed but winning a few bucks for bus fare back home won't be anything to gloat about!"_

Tod put his racing helmet on and tightened the strap under his chin. He looked at Vern. "Which of these other drivers I should watch out for?"

"All of them," Vern said. "Most all these guys have run this race before. They're either gonna look to push you off this track just because you're the new guy or because they've been told to."

"Great. Any suggestions?"

"Only one. Keep it on the track."

Tod nodded. "I'll do my best…"

Up in the grandstands, Captain McGrath still stood watch by the fence. One of the two plain clothes officers who had left during the driver introductions now returned and spoke briefly to the Captain, who nodded.

Up in the skybox, Doyle stood at the window with several of his guests and looked down at the line of cars on the front stretch.

" _Atlanta, are you ready for these bad boys to tear up the track?"_

A roar went up from the crowd.

" _All right then… Gentlemen! Start your engines!"_

Vern waited as Tod turned the key and the Bel Air fired up. With twenty-two other cars roaring to life, the noise on the front stretch was deafening. Tod could only flash a thumbs up to Vern when the needles on the gauges all showed life.

Vern nodded and patted the roof of the car. "Good luck Mistah Stiles!" he hollered. Tod just barely heard him.

Vern headed back to pit road and the front stretch started to clear out of anybody who wasn't in a race car. The pace car rolled out ahead of the line of cars as one race official stood at the front between the two lines of race cars and signaled with a downward sweep of his hands for the cars to proceed. Soon, all twenty-two cars were moving in a two line parade around the track, following the pace car.

It was a slow journey, even as the cars worked up to fifty miles an hour but fifty miles an hour was a crawl for a race car. Through the open windows of the Airstream, Buz could hear the hollering from the crowd and the approaching rumble of the race cars as they entered turn one. The PA announcer was rambling on about something but Buz couldn't hear a damn thing over the roar of twenty two cars going by, all spoiling to race.

That noise was nothing compared to what was coming. The cars paraded past the back stretch grandstands where fans were standing and cheering as the cars passed. Spectators in the front stretch grandstands were on their feet as the cars came out of turn four and the pace car pulled off to pit road. The flag man on the platform at the start/finish line held a hand out, the only person with the power to hold back twenty two pent up race cars with just an open palm and he readied his green flag.

And then the green flag was out and waving and the howl that came up from the track was deafening. The two line of race cars picked up speed and the race was on!

Mr. Jepson and Maggie had their eye right on Tod's number 44. The twenty-two cars all ran tight to start and Tod held on to his inside position, running door to door with the car next to him down and into turn one. They remained side by side coming out of turn two and as the field raced the back stretch it slowly began to break up the two line racing.

The first four lead cars were soon pulling away from the rest of the pack. The middle pack of cars were still fairly bunched up with Tod stuck on the inside, boxed in by a car in front of him, one behind him and one on the outside. The pack raced through turn three and came toward turn four together.

Tod suddenly felt the Bel Air lurch at being bumped and pushed from behind. The car next to him pushed in closer and Tod realized he was stuck in a squeeze play. The Bel Air swerved to the left and Tod hit the brakes as the Chevy slid along the apron of the track and toward the opening of pit road, turning around in a free-for-all spin.

The Chevy stayed grounded and Tod held on, riding it out. The car finally came to a stop at the mouth of pit road, the tail end pointed toward the pits.

Maggie and her father were both standing up, along with the rest of the spectators in the stands, who thought for sure Tod was going to go into the retaining wall. He didn't, which had gotten a cheer from a few folks in the stands and a sigh of relief from the Jepsons.

Undeterred, Tod returned the Chevy to the track, now having fallen from 12th place to last before even completing the first lap. Since he managed to not hit anything and no other cars got tangled up, there was no caution flag out. Racing continued and Tod floored the Bel Air to make up what he could.

Vern and his boys watched as the 44 went blowing past the start/finish line, the lone car bringing up the rear. Vern's expression was grim.

It was only just starting.

By the fifth lap, Tod managed to claw his way up to 15th place and was looking to pass the 14th place car. The two cars that had pushed him off the track in the first lap, were now running up in the top ten. By the end of the sixth lap, Tod had taken the 14th spot.

On lap seven, the car running in 8th suddenly blew a tire. The Ford Galaxie swerved up high on the embankment coming out of turn two, smacked the wall and drifted back down across the track. Smoke from the swerving race car made it impossible to know which way to go. The 9th place car squeezed by while the 10th and 11th weren't so lucky, both clipping the Ford. Tod stayed high on the outside following the 12th and 13th place cars and rode through the smoke hoping for the best.

He cleared the debris field and saw the flag waver on the backstretch signaling the yellow. Two more cars weren't so fortunate that tried to pass the chaos on the inside. In total, five cars were now were out of the race.

Tod raced back to the line and then slowed with the rest of the field for the caution. Vern held up the pit board signaling for Tod to stay out on the track. It was too early in the race for fuel or tires.

It also allowed some time for Vern to send Mitch to the corral to pinpoint where Buz was being held and get a survey of the situation. As the race cars paraded at reduced speed around the track, tow trucks worked to remove the disabled racers and a track crew hurried to sweep up debris.

Mitch ran from pit road, through the garage area to the corral section. Based on Tod's general directions, Mitch located the GMC that was pulling the Airstream trailer and he slowed to a walk and slipped in between two other campers parked near the GMC. Mitch went to the rear of the campers and came around, moving up toward the Airstream.

He remained at the Winnebago camper next to the Airstream and peered around. He could see the side of the Airstream with the door and Donnie sitting right on the steps with the folded newspaper in his lap. Mitch observed for only a moment and then slipped away and hurried back to pit road.

Buz, meanwhile, was trying to work at the ropes around his wrists. He heard the PA announcer when Tod spun on the first lap. Although Buz knew Tod was back in the race it was only a matter of time before the next attempt to knock Tod out happened.

Mitch returned to pit road, out of breath, but he nodded to Vern and confirmed what Tod had told them.

"It'll definitely be a two man job, at least," Mitch said. "Somebody to distract Donnie, somebody to get Buz out of there."

"Ok," Vern said. "We gotta watch for an opportunity to get him out and not lose Mistah Stiles on the track."

That, however, would be easier said than done.

When the race returned to green flag, Tod was up to 11th position. The first ten laps were completed with just over 70 more to go and the aggressive nature of the race soon started to show. The 17 cars now remaining in the race were bunched up again on the restart and there was some bumping and pushing going on as they roared down the front stretch. The car behind Tod, a '60 Plymouth, kissed the tail of the Bel Air and pushed the Chevy along.

Tod was nearly in the trunk of the Pontiac in front of him. He held on to the Bel Air as they went into turn one and rode it out through turn two and then went to the high side of the track to avoid bumping the Pontiac and try to shake the car behind him off his tail.

The Plymouth behind him pulled alongside, creating a three wide spectacle down the back stretch. Tod was caught between the Plymouth and the wall, with not a lot of room left over. Not knowing if he was up against merely an aggressive racer or somebody looking to knock him into the wall on purpose, Tod pushed the Bel Air for everything it had to try to outrun the Plymouth heading into turn three.

Tod could almost sense the laughter coming from the other driver. The Plymouth nudged against the Bel Air, not hard enough to send Tod into the wall but threatening to do so. The two cars traded paint and there was a brief chirp of tires as they pushed at each other heading into turn three.

Buz could hear the PA announcer describing the battle. The Plymouth kept pushing and as the cars went through turn three, there was the sudden crunch and scream of metal as Tod's Bel Air was shoved into the guard rail by the Plymouth halfway through the turn. The Plymouth pulled away and left the Chevy to slide along the guard rail with the remainder of the field flying by.

The yellow flag came out and the antics earned the driver of the Plymouth a black flag for rough racing, not that this was unusual in the Skull Cracker. Tod, meanwhile, peeled the Bel Air away from the guardrail and the Chevy limped down to the apron of the track, heading toward pit road with a flat right front tire.

Tod made it to the pit stall and Vern and his crew went right to work. A portion of the right fender had to be cut away first to allow the tire to be removed.

The Plymouth, meanwhile, was defying the race officials and was still on the track despite flag wavers around the track signaling the black flag to the driver. The pace car slowed the field to a complete stop along the front stretch and race officials approached the Plymouth.

"… _officials have stopped the field in order to direct number 68 to leave the track for his penalty… C'mon Joe, don't argue with them. Go to the pits and do your penalty…"_

Up in the skybox, Doyle smirked. He looked from the hold up on the front stretch to pit road, where Tod's Chevy was being frantically serviced.

In the stands, Maggie looked at her father. "Papa, I don't understand. Why won't that car leave the track?"

"He's just being a jerk," Jepson said. "He's being penalized for rough racing but apparently he doesn't think he did anything wrong."

It was another minute before the Plymouth finally pulled out of the line and headed toward pit road. The crowd cheered as the pace car moved forward and the field resumed its caution lap.

The Plymouth's arrogant delay actually helped Tod. With the field kept at bay by the race officials, Tod didn't lose any laps and Vern and his crew were able to finish with the tire and fast body work on the front fender. A quick splash of fuel and wipe down of the windshield and Tod was back to racing, passing the Plymouth that now sat in its pit stall for a stop and go penalty.

Of course, Tod was at the back of the pack again. And when the Plymouth returned to the track, it was at the back of the pack too…and behind Tod.

Tod glanced at the Plymouth in his rearview mirror. "Here we go again…"

Meanwhile, in the Airstream, Buz had managed to get to his knees on the floor of the camper. With legs tied together and his hands bound behind him he didn't have much to help keep his balance. He leaned a shoulder against the cabinet and pushed himself up off his knees on to his feet with his body weight held by the cabinet. He straightened up and wound up bent double over the countertop near the sink.

The commotion didn't go unnoticed by Donnie, who got up off the steps and opened the outer door to look in through the screen door. He smirked seeing Buz bent over the sink like he was sick.

"Nice try, Murdock," Donnie said, coming into the camper. "I hate to tell you after your gallant effort here that if you were thinking to look for a knife or something in the drawers, well, they're empty. And the propane tank for the cook stove is disconnected."

Buz just shot Donnie a look. The man laughed. "Now the question is do I leave you there bent over like a green seaman hanging off the stern of a ship or…" Donnie lifted Buz off the counter top by his shirt and held him up. "…do I put you back on the floor…" He kicked Buz's feet out from under him, sending him tumbling down to the floor in a heap. "…where you might be more comfortable." Donnie left Buz on the floor and stepped back out of the camper, closing the doors again.

Buz grimaced and rolled to his left side, staying there for the time being to get his bearings again.

Out on the track, back under green flag racing, Tod was playing keep away with the number 68 Plymouth. Tod passed two slower cars ahead of him putting them between himself and the Plymouth. He couldn't trust anyone on the track at this point, he knew. He may have been better off just running in last place since the odds weren't in his favor anyway, but he had too strong a competitive streak in him to settle for last place.

So he drove, and raced, and passed what cars he could. Since hitting the wall, the Bel Air didn't run quite like it had before but he still had a faster car than some others that were on the track.

The Plymouth, meantime, continued to stay within striking distance. After several laps of green flag racing, Tod was back where he started the race, in 12th place, with the Plymouth sitting back in 14th.

A battle between the 5th, 6th and 7th place cars eventually became vicious and culminated in all three cars spinning out all over the track, one car crunching into the guard rail on the high side of the track at turn three with the other two cars spinning out all over the place and coming down across the apron of the track and through the grass.

Ten drivers held their breath as they came flying through the smoke filled turn.

Buz was holding his breath too, as he listened to the PA announcer rattle of the car numbers involved in the altercation. He released his breath when he did not hear number 44 mentioned.

Tod cleared the area and saw the yellow flag waving at the stand as he came down the front stretch. From the pits, Vern was waving his arms, signaling for Tod to come in on the next pass.

Tod came in, along with most of the rest of the field, and the entire dynamic of the race now shifted focus to the activity on pit road. Positions would be gained and lost at this point and Vern and his crew knew this. Like Tod, they knew the odds were slim with this race but they weren't going to just settle either. They worked fast to change the right side tires and then came around to the left side, while Vern helped with the gas can.

Fresh tires on the left side were placed on, lug nuts tightened and the Chevy was lowered back to all four again. Tod anxiously watched his rearview mirror, still seeing the gas can. There were cars starting to pull back on to pit road.

Mitch quickly wiped down the windshield while the tank was filled. The can was pulled away, a small amount of fuel splashing on the concrete. "Go! Go! Go!" Vern hollered.

Tod pulled out of the pit box and on to pit road, two other cars ahead of him and three more behind. They returned to the track and met up with the pace car.

The PA announcer rattled off the new race leaders and sorted through the rest of the field. Tod was now in 7th place with the number 68 Plymouth ahead of him in fifth.

There were now fourteen cars left in the race and they were all bunched up again when the green flag dropped and the race resumed.

There were several laps of good green flag racing. The Plymouth pulled up to 3rd place and Tod managed to take 5th place although he was bumped and pushed along the way. Up in the stands, Mr. Jepson and Maggie weren't sure whether to cheer or fear. Vern and his crew weren't sure either.

Up the skybox, Doyle watched the race, looking through binoculars as the field went around to the backstretch. He lowered the binoculars and turned to Monty standing next to him.

"Tell the 22 to let Stiles pass, I'll make it worth it. Then tell Joe to finish it this time."

Monty nodded and turned to leave the skybox. Doyle resumed watching the race.

It took some time for the message to be relayed and the crew chief for the 22 was a little put out by what Monty was telling him.

"What?! We're in fourth place, best shot we've had all day!"

"Just do it. Mr. Doyle will make it up to you."

The crew chief lowered an eyebrow at Monty. "It's that Stiles kid isn't it? He's been pushed all over the track all day."

Monty ignored the comment. The crew chief of the 22 knew the score. "Call him in," Monty said.

The crew chief sighed. He walked over to the pit board and wrote the message and then held it up when the field came back around again.

PIT.

Tod was surprised when the 22 pulled away from the field and headed to pit road on the next go around.

Buz heard the PA announcer say that Tod was now in 4th place. He rolled off his side and struggled to get back to his knees again.

On pit road, Vern was watching the 22 car in its pit box, taking on a quick drop of fuel and left side tires only. The driver had an arm out the window, waving it with agitation to his crew chief. Vern wasn't so sure about the pit strategy either.

Out on the track, the first four cars which included Tod and the Plymouth, were in a race now by themselves, with the 5th place car running several seconds behind. Tod rode the bumper of the Plymouth, trying to decide when and if he was going to pass. He knew enough to stay away from the high side after having already been pushed into the wall once. As they raced around to the back stretch, the Plymouth moved to the outside going into turn three, opening the door wide for Tod to pass.

Tod stayed on the inside but held off on the pass. The two cars raced through the turn, the Plymouth staying high with the Chevy running only to the back quarter panel of the number sixty-eight. Out of turn four they each remained in their racing lanes and the spectators in the stands cheering on what they thought was an opportunity for Tod to move up to 3rd place.

Jepson noticed the 44 was holding pat on the inside lane. Maggie glanced at her father, having a pretty good idea why Tod wasn't trying to pass, after what happened before with the 68 car.

Vern and his crew watched too. Mitch shook his head. "He could pass him! He could easily pass him!"

The PA announcer noted the Chevy seemed to be glued to the back quarter panel of the Plymouth too and not willing to make the pass.

"… _not sure folks if we have a battle going on for third place or not. The number 44 doesn't seem to want to take the spot even though the door seems wide open. Joe's so high up on the track he's almost into the grandstands…"_

Buz's eyebrows furrowed. _Joe? Wasn't the name of the driver of the car that pushed Tod into the wall earlier and was black flagged?_

They raced on to turn one and Tod remained on the inside. Since the Chevy wouldn't pass, the Plymouth forced the issue and slowed down quite a bit going into the turn and slid in behind the Bel Air coming out of turn two.

Tod glanced at his rearview mirror and frowned at the car. The last thing he wanted was for that damn Plymouth to be behind him. He set his sights on the tail of the Pontiac Catalina that was in 2nd place and raced to try to put that car between himself and the Plymouth.

Up in the skybox, Doyle's expression as neutral. The crowd in the back stretch grandstands were cheering and Buz heard the PA announcer say that Tod was now in 3rd place and roaring up on the 2nd place car. Even with knowing the efforts could prove futile in the end, Buz couldn't help but be amused at his buddy's audacity. Tod sure as hell wasn't to going to go out with whimper.

Of course, neither was Buz. Despite his wrists becoming raw from his efforts, Buz kept at it, trying to stretch the ropes enough to get a hand loose.

On the track, the other ten cars in the field were more or less forgotten at this point while all eyes were on the top four cars and the dimpled and crinkled Chevy that had been shoved around all afternoon that was now threatening the race leaders.

The 2nd place Pontiac was only interested in losing its current position one way, and that was by taking the lead. The four lead cars came out of turn four and raced down the front stretch with the Catalina looking to make a move to try to pass the leader.

The crowd was hooting and hollering, in stark contrast to the grim looking face of Captain McGrath watching at the front of the grandstands.

The Pontiac couldn't get in under the leader before the turn and fell in behind. The four lead cars snaked through turns one and two single file and came out on to the backstretch. The Catalina went to the outside and pulled up alongside the leader, the two cars running door to door down the backstretch.

The Catalina could only manage to pull about a quarter length ahead of the leader but couldn't finish the pass. The two cars remained door to door going into turn three and came out of four together.

Meantime, Tod was still running single file with the Plymouth drafting behind him. The two lead cars continued to race each other and the Pontiac finally overtook the leader just before turn one and attempted to move down to the inside and in front of the leader. The race leader apparently wasn't going to give up that easily and pulled up just enough to touch the left side rear quarter panel sending the Pontiac into a spin.

When Tod saw the Pontiac make the move to the inside, he moved the Chevy to the outside and it was good thing. The Pontiac spun out in front of the leader, who never let off the throttle and pushed the Catalina out of the way. The leader fishtailed as Tod and the Plymouth passed but straightened and remained in the race.

Until the flags flew, one yellow for the caution, one black for the now former leader of the race. Racing on the backstretch, Tod now found himself in first place.

The crowd was going nuts for all of it, the two former lead cars were both popular local drivers with a known rivalry and now this newcomer Yankee kid was in first place with about 20 laps to go.

Up in the skybox, Doyle was not as enthused as some of his fellow spectators were.

"Wow, did you see that?"

"Them two always tangle up in this race."

"That was something else! Now who's in the lead?"

"That 44 car is the new kid right?"

"Some Yankee. Gotta give 'em credit though, he's done pretty good in this for his first time…"

Doyle kept his comments to himself. He raised the binoculars to see Joe in the number 68 Plymouth was drafting right behind the 44 Chevy as the cars raced back to the line to meet up with the pace car.

In the stands, Maggie turned to her father. "Papa, I don't know whether to cheer or cry!"

"Me either!"

Buz almost couldn't believe what he heard when the PA announcer described the tangle up between the first and second place cars that knocked both out of their places and allowed Tod to take first place. Despite the gag, there was a smile, more easily seen in the dark eyes. _Go get 'em tiger!_

Vern and his crew were fired up too and they readied themselves for Tod's next pit stop. As soon as the yellow flag had come out, Vern had put the message on the pit board to show Tod when the 44 came racing back to the line. There were seven cars on the lead lap and when the pace car brought them around turn four, the 44 Chevy pulled away toward pit road, with six other cars behind him.

Tod raced to his pit box, Vern flagging him to slow down so that he didn't over shoot the stall. The Chevy came to a stop within the box and the crew went right to work to change right side tires while the gas can nozzle was shoved into the back of the Bel Air.

This time Vern took care of wiping down the windshield after handing Tod an ice cold bottle of soda. Tod gulped down a couple of quick drinks as he waited for the tire change. The cool bubbling soda was a welcome reprieve inside the hot interior of the Bel Air. The right side of the car was lowered and the crew came around to the left.

Before the left side was done, Tod handed the half empty bottle back to Vern. "Get Buz out of the corral!" he said. "I'm going to finish this race, in first place, whether Doyle likes it or not!"

"Damn right Mistah Stiles! Just stay away from the sixty-eight!"

"I will!"

The Bel Air was returned to all fours and the gas can was removed from the back. Vern slapped the roof of the car. "Go! Go! Go!" Tod peeled off on to pit road.

He returned to the track maintaining his first place position with four other cars directly behind him. The Plymouth was in third.

Monty was at the pit box for the number sixty-eight. He looked at the crew chief after the Plymouth pulled away.

"Joe got the message?"

The crew chief nodded. "He knows what to do."

"Good." Monty looked down pit road to Tod's pit crew who were cleaning up their pit area.

When they were finished, Vern turned to Mitch. "You and Jimmy here go get Mistah Murdock and bring him back here. And _be careful!_ "

Mitch nodded and turned to Jimmy, who followed Mitch out of the pit area.

Monty saw the two men leave and he followed. When he realized they were heading toward the corral, he took a different direction to get there ahead of them.

" _One more caution lap folks and then we'll return to green flag racing and see if this new kid, Tod Stiles, can hold off the rest of the field and hang on to that first place spot for the next 15 or so laps to win the race. I don't reckon that's going to be an easy task…"_

On the road in the corral, Mitch and Jimmy walked casually, trying not to look obvious as they scoped out the GMC truck. Long before they got to it, however, Monty stepped out from between two other parked pickups brandishing a switchblade knife.

"Pit road's back that way," Monty said with the click of the blade. "With your boy is in first place that's really where you should be…"

Mitch glanced from the knife to Jimmy. "Wha… we were just takin' a walk..."

Monty shook his head. "You're part of Stile's pit crew. He was warned about trying to pull any tricks. Now if you want, you can watch the rest of the race from the same seats Murdock is, or you can go back to your pit box and I'll forget you were here."

Mitch held his hands up indicating no argument. He and Jimmy took a couple of steps back before turning around to head back toward the garage area. Mitch looked over his shoulder once, seeing Monty still standing there.

"Damn," Jimmy said. "These are the guys that killed Cecil ain't they?"

"Yeah. I dunno if it was that guy but he works for Doyle so it's all one in the same," Mitch replied.

"What do we do now?"

"Get to the garage. We're gonna need a little leverage."

While Mitch and Jimmy were heading toward the garage, Monty went to where the Airstream was parked.

Donnie looked up.

"Couple of fellas from Stiles's pit crew were on their way here," Monty said.

Donnie shook his head. "He was warned. Kid don't listen."

"I persuaded them to go back to their pit stall." Monty waved his closed up switch blade. "But I'm gonna hang out here just in case they come back."

Inside the camper, Buz heard Monty arrive and he paused from his struggle with the ropes to listen.

"They'll be back," Donnie said. "You know who Stiles has in that crew don't you?"

Monty shrugged.

"Vern Tate."

"Cecil's brother?"

Donnie nodded. "If he ever knew it was you that baited his brother into that fight…"

"Cecil was a punk. He had it coming."

"Doyle never said to kill 'em."

"Doyle wasn't exactly upset about it."

"He wasn't exactly happy about it either."

"So what?" Monty said. "I took care of it, kept the heat off and he got over it. Now shut up, they're going back to green flag here…"

Inside the camper, Buz's dark eyes were sober with what he'd just heard. He resumed his pull and struggle with the ropes, now with even more reason for he and Tod to get out of this mess.

Out on the track, Tod hit the throttle wide open at the green flag and kept the Chevy out in front, leading the pack of cars into the turn.

From the skybox Doyle watched through his binoculars, his expression dour. The number 68 Plymouth was running in third and had eleven laps to get back close enough to Tod's Chevy to finish the job.

Eleven laps wasn't a lot of time…


	9. No More Loose Ends

After grabbing what was available in the garage, Mitch a wrench and Jimmy a screw driver, they hurried back toward the corral area. About halfway to where the Airstream camper was parked, Mitch pulled Jimmy aside between a camper and a truck with a tag-a-long.

"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back." Jimmy nodded and Mitch headed toward the back side of the campers and disappeared around the end of the tag-a-long. Mitch moved up past the line of campers and trailers and paused at the rear of the Winnebago that was parked next to the Airstream. He peered around the corner and saw what he'd expected; Donnie and Monty were now both posted as guard for Buz. He slipped back from the Winnebago and headed back to where he'd left Jimmy.

"Ok," Mitch said. "There's two there now, the guy with the knife and Donnie, who's packing a gun."

Jimmy looked at his screw driver. "I love a good even fight."

"I think we can even it up some more. Here's what I'm thinking…."

On the track, the Bel Air continued to lead the charge with the three front running cars now having pulled away from the rest of the field. With nine laps remaining, Tod was about three car lengths ahead of the second place car and the Plymouth in third. The Plymouth rode close to the back of the second place car, drafting it for a lap before cutting suddenly to the inside and roaring up alongside it. Like a sling shot, the Plymouth blew past and took second place.

The crowd in the stands on the back stretch were on their feet and cheering as the race leaders went gusting by. The Plymouth was firmly in second place, leaving the other car behind and racing to gain on the Chevy that was in first place.

Vern put a quick message on the pit board and held it up as Tod zoomed down the front stretch: _68 2_ _nd_

Tod glanced in his mirrors. The Plymouth was still back a couple of lengths but that didn't mean much. He stayed on the throttle, glancing quickly at his speed and RMPs. That's when he noticed the needle on the temperature gauge was pushing past the halfway mark.

Tod wasn't surprised. The Chevy had taken a beating, literally, in the race. The fact the car had lasted this long had been a miracle. Whether the miracle would hold and get him to the finish line in the next seven laps remained to be seen, but he would push it as far as it would go.

Vern put the pit board down and looked at his watch. He then looked toward the garage area and the direction of the corral, wondering how Mitch and Jimmy were doing.

Mitch and Jimmy watched Donnie and Monty from the backside of the Winnebago. Mitch was trying to figure a plan to get the drop on the two but Donnie's gun was giving him pause with each idea.

After a couple of minutes, and the race coming down to four laps to go, Monty stood up from the steps and paced toward the corral path, listening to the announcer on the PA. He paused looking around the path.

" _Just four laps to go ladies and gentlemen and Tod Stiles is hangin' on to that lead…!"_

Mitch figured this was their best chance with the two separated. He turned to Jimmy and whispered a quick plan of action and Jimmy nodded. Jimmy ducked back the other way around the Winnebago and moved toward the front of it.

Between the Winnebago and the truck that was pulling it, Jimmy could see Monty looking the other way in the direction of turn one. The Plymouth and the Chevy were running door to door. Tod held on to his piece of the asphalt and ran through the turn, the Plymouth close enough that Tod could have put his hand out the window and shook the other driver's hand. Not that the driver of the Plymouth would have accepted such a gesture anyway.

As Monty watched the cars through the turn, Jimmy crept low around the front of the truck and then sprung out at Monty with sudden attack. Monty had just enough time to turn to his enemy but no time to go for his switchblade. The two men tangled and fell to the dirt wrestling.

Donnie sprung up at the fight and dropped the newspaper, readying his gun. From behind the Winnebago, Mitch raised up the wrench he held and pitched it at Donnie, hitting him in the arm that held the gun and spoiling his attempt to use it. Mitch chased after his wrench and tackled Donnie, knocking gun away.

Inside the Airstream, Buz heard the commotion and realized what was happening. He yanked harder on the ropes, trying desperately to get himself free.

The fight soon spilled out into the corral path and dust kicked up from the combatants. The scuffle didn't go unnoticed and several people soon started to gather around, some not sure which fight they wanted to see, the one in the corral or the one that was starting to unfold on the track.

" _Three laps to go and we have quite the battle now going on for the lead here between the number 44 Chevrolet of Tod Stiles and the number 68 Plymouth of Joe Smith and – well, it looks like we have a battle going on in the infield as well!"_

Mitch and Jimmy were each holding their own against their opponents. The small crowd that had gathered were hooting and hollering, a couple throwing half empty beer cans at the combatants.

From inside the Airstream, it seemed like all hell was breaking lose. Buz could hear the announcer talking about the on track fight Tod was in, and the off track fight in the infield that he could hear right outside the camper.

Tod and Joe, meanwhile, came out of turn four, still side by side. In the stands, Mr. Jepson and Maggie were on their feet along with everyone else.

"Papa, it's that car again!"

From pit road, Vern and his crew watched tensely as the two cars raced down the front stretch, the Plymouth close enough to the Chevy now to start bumping and trading paint. Both cars shimmied and swerved a little before going into turn one.

"Stay out of the wall Mistah Stiles!" Vern yelled, although he knew Tod couldn't hear him.

The Plymouth backed away in the turn but when the two cars were on the backstretch, the kid gloves came off. The Plymouth nudged against the Chevy. Tod moved away to the right which edged him closer to the wall. He hit the brakes, allowing the Plymouth to shoot past him and take the lead.

The two raced through turns three and four with Tod staying back behind the Plymouth. When they reached the line, they had two laps left to go.

Captain McGrath could see the fight in the corral from his spot on the front stretch. He signaled to another plain clothes officer and quickly left the grandstands.

The grandstands on both sides of the track were alive with hooting and hollering. Vern and his crew watched the Plymouth and the Bel Air go down into turn one and everybody was up on the pit road wall to try to see the cars as they raced through turn two and on to the backstretch.

Having figured out the Plymouth's game, Tod stayed behind the car and followed it down the back stretch. The Plymouth moved to the outside heading into turn three, leaving the inside as an open invitation for Tod to pass.

Tod declined and stood pat on his position through the turn and the two cars came out of turn four and roared on to the line where the white flag came out signaling the last lap. Tod figured if he could hold the line until the last moment maybe he could still win the race and not get killed at the same time.

That is, if the Bel Air was going to make it. The temperature gauge was pushing closer to the red zone and the oil pressure was starting to drop. When Tod glanced up from the gauges he saw out of the corner of his eye the fight going on in the corral as he approached turn one. The Plymouth was still to his right but slowed letting him pass in the turn and slipped in directly behind him as they came out of turn two and raced on to the backstretch.

Tod glanced at the Plymouth in his rearview mirror and swallowed the fear. He pushed the accelerator demanding anything and everything the Bel Air had left.

The Plymouth drafted close and then tapped the back bumper of the Chevy. The Bel Air lurched but Tod held on to it, keeping the car on the track even when the number 68 came back again and pushed the Chevy down the backstretch.

Tod had few options and as soon as he inched the wheel toward the right, he knew he'd made a mistake. The two cars went into turn three with Tod on the outside and the Plymouth on the inside, the nose of the 68 running even with the back quarter panel of the Chevy.

The crowd was going nuts, the PA announcer's play by play being drowned out. Inside the Airstream, Buz couldn't be sure he heard right – that Tod was barely hanging on to the lead.

Vern and the rest of the pit crew were spilled out over the pit wall and were standing beyond the pit box on pit road, watching the two cars come out of turn four and race down the front stretch. "C'mon…" Vern was rooting. "C'mon Mistah Stiles!"

The nose of the Plymouth was now even with the door of the Bel Air and the 68 nudged closer, the two cars briefly trading paint, forcing Tod closer to the retaining wall. The crowd in the front stretch grandstands were on their feet as the cars roared to the finish line.

The checkered flag was out waving as the Chevy hit the line first. Tod had no time to realize or enjoy his slim victory as the Plymouth pushed him harder toward the retaining wall. Sheet metal touched and there was a deafening roar, the car itself screaming as dark blue paint was stripped away and left behind on the retaining wall of the front stretch grandstands. The passenger side mirror and the Bel Air's airplane trim piece were casualties as well.

Tod pushed back against the Plymouth and the car backed away mere inches, keeping Tod trapped at the high side of the track.

In the corral, Mitch and Jimmy managed to knock down Donnie and Monty each as the race leaders were roaring past the finish line. They had only a moment to recover when they heard the chirp of tires and crunch of metal coming from the track.

They spun to look and saw the Plymouth come back to shove hard against the Chevy again pushing the Bel Air into the guard rail near turn one. The force of the blow, combined with the over 120 mile per hour speed of the Chevy, created just the right amount of push to cause the car to lurch upward, skate a tire along the guardrail, and send the entire length of the Bel Air airborne. The flat finned tail end swung around as the car leapt over the guardrail and disappeared outside of the track and down the embankment.

The same force sent the Plymouth careening down onto the apron of the track and skidding across the infield toward the retaining wall, sending a shower of dirt flying up ten feet into the air.

"Papa!" Maggie cried out, putting her hands over her mouth. Mr. Jepson grabbed hold of his daughter and strained to listen to the PA announcer over the sudden chatter and noise of the crowd.

Vern and his pit crew watched in horror as the Bel Air went airborne then each man started running down pit road heading toward turn one.

In the Airstream, Buz heard enough to know Tod had won the race – and then crashed but he didn't hear that the car had gone up and over the guard rail. He finally pulled a hand lose from the ropes, the skin around his wrist looking like raw hamburger.

On the corral road, Mitch spun to Jimmy. "Go get Vern! Go get the others!" Jimmy nodded and took off back to pit road. Mitch ran to the Airstream just as uniformed police officers were coming into the corral.

Mitch pulled open the door of the Airstream and found Buz on the floor, the gag off, pulling at the ropes around his feet, seeing his wrists red and raw. Buz looked up. "Mitch…"

Mitch kneeled down and picked at one of the other knots.

"I heard the announcer," Buz said. "He said Tod won, then crashed?"

"Yeah, just after he crossed the finish line." The ropes unraveled and were pulled away. Mitch put a hand out to Buz and helped pull him up off the floor. "The sixty-eight pushed him over the guard rail," Mitch said grimly.

" _Over?!_ " Buz stared at Mitch for a beat and then bolted out of the Airstream. He ignored the cops, along with Donnie and Monty who were now handcuffed and sitting in the dirt, and ran through the corral park heading toward turn one. He slowed when he saw the plume of smoke rising up from the other side of the embankment from somewhere outside the track.

The grim possibility that Tod had perished nearly knocked the wind out Buz. There was yelling coming from behind him, he even heard his name but he ignored it. He broke into a sprint down the corral road and cut between two parked campers, climbing over the low retaining wall at the end of the infield. The banged up Plymouth still sat in the dirt, the driver out of the car and a tow truck pulling up to it. Buz kept running, out onto the track and up the embankment. He got to the guard rail and looked.

The Chevy was about fifty yards away down the grass and dirt embankment, on its roof, the underside of the car all aflame. There was a trail of torn up sod from where the car had flipped several times on its way to where it now sat.

" _Tod!_ " Buz climbed over the guard rail and hurried down the embankment, half-running, half-sliding along the way. " _Tod!_ " He moved as close to the car as he could, raising his hands to shield himself from the flames blowing hot and fiercely from the undercarriage. He kneeled down to try to look into the car to see if Tod was in there, if he was trapped and trying to get out.

The heat was intense and the flames and smoke hindered the view inside the car. Still, Buz tried to get closer. " _Tod!_ "

Behind him, somebody grabbed his arm. Buz turned to see it was Mitch who hauled Buz back to his feet, pulling him away from the car.

"No!" Buz protested. "I think he's in there!"

"It's no use Buz, it's no use!"

Buz twisted and turned from Mitch's hold. "No! Tod!" He took another step toward the car only to be forcefully grabbed back by Mitch and pulled further away from the car.

Track emergency vehicles and personnel were now coming upon the scene from the parking lot. Buz shoved Mitch away and walked away from the car, his hands over his face. The thought of Tod in that burning car now sickened him and his grief began to swell. His body hitched with a sob and he took his hands away from his face, clenching them into fists.

Fire extinguishers were turned toward the car and the flames began to die away under the foam making the thick dark smoke that had been rising up turn a wispy grey. The area around the car was a cloud of smoke blocking the view, the sun and everything.

Buz hardly comprehended the hollering and commotion going on behind him as the crews worked to extinguish the fire. He felt angry and sick.

"…here! We found him, he's over here!"

Buz didn't hear anything. He saw nothing. The light on the dark side of him was gone…

"Buz!" Mitch grabbed him. "They found 'em! He's over here."

Buz spun to Mitch, his dark eyes already intense with grief. "Wha…"

Mitch shoved Buz around to the other side of the car. Twenty feet back from the car, up the embankment, near a cluster a bushes, Tod was being pulled from the brush and laid out a few feet away on his back. His clothes were stained with dirt and torn and he lay unconscious as his racing helmet was removed.

Buz wasn't sure he could take it. He dropped to his knees next to Tod, looking at his friend as a medic was checking Tod over, holding fingers to the carotid artery.

"Tell me he's alive…" Buz said.

The medic paused a few beats and then nodded. "He is..." He lifted one eye lid for a moment and saw the pupil react as did the rest of Tod who began to stir with life.

"Tod?" Buz held Tod's head as the green eyes started to flutter open. "Easy now…" Tod grimaced with discomfort and looked at Buz, recognizing his buddy with relief. There was momentary confusion, however, as Tod had no idea that at that moment he and Buz were safe. He barely remembered winning the race but for all he knew they were still going to be dispatched by Doyle.

"Buz… I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" Buz couldn't help his smile. "What are you sorry for? You won the race, kid…"

Up in the skybox, Doyle had to struggle to maintain an appropriate expression after he and his various guests watched the Chevy leap over the turn one guard rail after winning the race. Then to see the plume of smoke rising up from beyond the embankment the chattering in the skybox was concerned.

Doyle placed his binoculars down and turned from the window. He excused himself from his guests, saying he was going to see that the driver was okay. He exited the box and headed down the stairs.

Stuart met up with him on one of the landings about half way up. "Stiles went over the guardrail," he said, turning to walk with Doyle down the stairs.

"I saw it. Spread the word, make sure it's finished. And get Murdock out of here. No more lose ends."

"Right."

At the last landing and the exit, there were two uniformed police officers and Captain McGrath waiting. Doyle and Stuart both stopped half way down the stairs and stared.

"That's right, Doyle," McGrath said. "No more lose ends."

Doyle looked smug while Stuart looked stunned. Plain clothed and uniformed officers came up the stairs to escort the two men down. At the bottom of the landing, they paused.

"I didn't know you were a race fan Captain," Doyle said. "I could have seen you got a sky box seat."

"I'm not." McGrath pulled a piece of paper from his suit jacket. "You're under arrest, Mr. Doyle."

Doyle scoffed. "For what?"

"A lot of things, the biggest of which is kidnapping and attempted murder – unless, Mr. Stiles did not survive that wreck, in which case we will be having a _very_ different conversation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. My attorney will turn your warrant into confetti."

"Not this time, Mr. Doyle. Not this time…"

Tod got up on his own and stood, somewhat shakily, and walked to the waiting ambulance on his own leaning on Buz for support. The attendants helped him into the back and Buz climbed in after him.

The ambulance was gone by the time Mr. Jepson and his daughter made it down from the grandstands. From the parking lot they could see the blackened remains of the Bel Air on the embankment. Not knowing if Tod had perished or not, Jepson didn't want Maggie to go further and he turned to her.

"You wait here," he said.

She nodded and brought her hands together to her lips in prayer. She watched her father go closer toward the embankment where several people were gathered. She recognized Vern and a couple of his friends in the group. Her father spoke to them for a couple of minutes and then started back in her direction.

He smiled at her as he approached. "Tod's alive," he said, "they took him to the hospital as a precaution, Buz went with him." He touched Maggie on the arm and they turned back to the parking lot to return to their car.

When the word came over the PA that Tod was alive, the crowd cheered. Although Tod was the winner it was unknown who would be presenting the checks as Doyle, Stuart, Monty and Donnie were all collected up by the police and placed in patrol cars. It was a rather unceremonious end of the Skull Cracker 125.

And it was only the beginning of the end for Silas Doyle. Captain McGrath ignored the man's bluster as they rode back to Atlanta and all threats of what Doyle's attorney would do had no effect. The confidence of the police captain, combined with the fact that this cop wasn't on his payroll, irritated Doyle. All the same though, Doyle expected this matter would be wrapped up to his satisfaction as soon as they got to Atlanta.

It wasn't. Doyle and his associates were booked and locked up on multiple charges. Doyle was indignant as he was placed in a holding cell and after the door slammed shut he demanded to see Lieutenant Fredericks.

McGrath and the officers that had escorted Doyle to the holding cell all paused in the hall way. The captain then turned back to Doyle.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Lieutenant Fredericks has been relieved of duty and placed on suspension."

The look on Doyle's face had made the last six months spent on the internal affairs investigation all worth it. Doyle said nothing and McGrath didn't need to elaborate further. He and the other officers left the holding area.

At the hospital, Tod was treated for some cuts, abrasions and heavy bruises and checked over by a doctor, who determined there were no broken bones or anything more serious and declared Tod was a very lucky young man.

Although Tod appreciated the sentiment, and was very thankful he had survived, he wasn't feeling all that lucky. At that moment neither he nor Buz knew Doyle and his men had been arrested. Tod figured he and Buz were still looking at a short future.

When the doctor left the room, Buz – along with Mr. Jepson and Maggie – were allowed back in. Buz looked at his buddy.

"Soon as they let you out of here, I say we just keep on going."

"How? We don't have a car."

"We walk. Or run. Or take a bus. Who cares? Doyle's bound to figure out where we're at and send somebody to make good on the 'deal.'"

Jepson nodded. "Buz is right, Tod. You boys should just get out of Atlanta while you can."

"We still owe you money," Tod said. "And then there's the Jag we lost."

"Don't worry about that," Jepson said. "You can make good on those things from any place in the country, just as long as you're away from here and safe to do so."

"And you can bet the cops won't be any help after what happened either," Buz said, just as the door was opening.

"I wouldn't make that bet," Captain McGrath said.

Buz turned and suddenly had hackles raised, seeing the two uniformed officers that had accompanied the Captain. Mr. Jepson put a protective arm around his daughter.

McGrath put his hands up, indicating he meant no threat. "I'm Captain David McGrath of the Atlanta police." He glanced at Tod. "Mr. Stiles and I have already met…" he then looked at Buz. "You must be Buz Murdock."

"That's right."

"And you must be Harold Jepson."

Jepson nodded.

"Well, I think you will all be happy to know that Mr. Doyle and several of his associates have been placed under arrest."

Everyone was dumbstruck. Knowing he had a captive audience, McGrath continued. "We received a tip that Mr. Murdock here was being held against his will and that you, Mr. Stiles, were going to be killed in an auto race. Certainly we are glad to see you were not."

Tod nodded and glanced at Buz. "Buz was held."

"Yes, we know. We have the two men from the corral in custody." He looked at Tod. "As glad as I am that you and your friend here are ok, I did warn you about trying to get your car back yourselves and going up against Doyle."

"Well, all things considered Captain, I didn't trust you," Tod said. "I thought you worked for Doyle, no offense."

"None taken. Sadly, there were several officers who were on Doyle's payroll. An internal investigation has been going on for the past several months. Although I'm sorry you didn't trust me, your reaction was not without basis," McGrath said.

"So now that you've got Doyle and his crew, you have Tod's car back?" Buz asked.

"Not quite. Mr. Doyle and his associates are not very chatty right now, so we're not sure where the car is at presently—"

"I know where it is," Buz said. "It's in a warehouse, along with the Jag that got stolen from Mr. Jepson here."

"Can you show us this warehouse?" McGrath asked.

"I can try."

When the line of police cars pulled into Bluff Street and up to the warehouse, the overhead service doors were wide open. The lead police car pulled to a stop and out stepped Captain McGrath and Buz along with a uniformed officer. Buz went in ahead of them and looked to the corner where the Corvette had been parked.

It was gone. The Jag was gone too. Buz looked around the warehouse as other officers were coming in and the only cars that remained were what was left of the ones that had been stripped for parts.

"It was right here," Buz said. "And the Jag was over there…" He pointed to the empty spot next to a car that was stripped.

McGrath said nothing as he paced forward through the warehouse. Buz noticed the overhead service doors at the back of the warehouse were wide open. This had not been the case when he was there earlier. He walked over.

An officer approached Captain McGrath. "There's an office across the way, looks like they left in a hurry…"

Buz paused at the doorway and looked out. Railroad tracks ran along the backside of the warehouse and the platform jutted out far enough to meet the tracks, making loading and unloading of a box car easier. He looked in both directions of the track and realized there was only one direction anything being loaded from this point could go – Inman Yard.

"I'm sorry Mr. Murdock," McGrath said coming up behind Buz. "I'm afraid your friend's car and the Jag are long gone by now. Of course, area law enforcement will have the cars on their hot sheets."

"What good's that going to do?"

"Well, if it happens to be spotted—"

"If it's visible."

"That kind of goes without saying."

Buz turned to McGrath. "What about the freight yard?"

McGrath paused. "I suppose he could have shipped them out in a box car."

"Makes sense. Tucked away in a box car, nobody would ever see it. And with the right forged papers, which Doyle seems to be very good at, nobody would ever question the shipment in or out of the freight yard."

"True. But he could have trucked the cars out on a car carrier. There's any number of ways those cars could have gone, at any particular time. For all we know they went out last night and they're not even within Atlanta anymore. They may not even been within the state of Georgia."

"Maybe. You want to go back to the hospital and tell Tod that?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"We look at Inman Yard. These bay doors weren't open when I was here yesterday. My hunch is he sent them out in a box car and it's possible if they went out today, they're still sitting in the yard waiting to hook up to a train going in whatever direction he wanted to send those cars to."

McGrath looked out and down the tracks. He nodded. "Let's go take a look."

At the freight yard, the freight master on duty confirmed a box car had come in from Silas Doyle. He then checked the classification sheets, determined it was heading for Chicago and that it had been sent to track 16 for hook up. The freight master then shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That train was hooked up and left here about 45 minutes ago."

Buz looked at the manifest for the box car. Four automobiles were listed as being in the carrier but none of them were a Corvette or a Jaguar. Of course, once a locked box car came in to the yard, it remained sealed and as long as the weight was consistent with what was being shipped nobody gave it a second glance.

McGrath figured as much too. He looked at the freight master. "Where's that train now?"

"Let me check with the dispatcher…"

After the freight master left the room, Buz looked up from the manifest to Captain McGrath. The cop was eyeing him critically. "There could be four Chevy Impalas in that box car, Mr. Murdock. If we stop that train and open that car and find that to be true..."

Buz shook his head. "It's there."

"What if it isn't?"

"It's _there_ ," Buz repeated.

"For your buddy's sake, I hope you're right. Because if it's not, you're going to give him the bad news, not me."

A couple of minutes later, the freight master returned. "That train's between Emerson and Cartersville. He's stopping in Cartersville, he'll wait for you."

McGrath nodded and he, Buz and the uniformed officer left.

About an hour later, they arrived in the small town of Cartersville, GA north of Atlanta. The first sight they saw was the long line of box cars waiting on the tracks that ran parallel with the road that lead into town, casting long shadows as the sun was setting in the west. They met up with the conductor and then found the box car back down the line.

With a nod from Captain McGrath, the conductor broke the seal on the box car. Buz stepped forward to help push open the door. He then looked anxiously into the box car and saw the Corvette tucked inside on one side, with the Jag across from it on the other side of the box car. Stacked above were two Impalas.

Buz looked at Captain McGrath with a smile. McGrath just looked at the four cars packed into the box car and shook his head wondering how the heck the four cars were loaded in in the first place – and how they were to come back out.

In the days that followed, Tod and Buz remained in Atlanta as things were sorted out and settled. The Corvette and Jaguar both were carefully extracted from the box car and the Jag was sent back to Mr. Henderson, who was pleased not only to have the car back, but to know everything had turned out okay. The Corvette was returned to Tod by the Atlanta police with Captain McGrath personally handing the keys over to Tod at the police station. Both boys gave their statements as to the various events involving Silas Doyle. Buz added what he had overheard from Donnie and Monty and what had happened to Vern's brother, Cecil.

The battered and burnt up Bel Air was sadly scrapped. Tod and Buz followed the flat bed tow truck to a salvage yard where they got $10 for Chevy. As they walked back to the Corvette, Tod couldn't help but pause a moment, looking up at the busted up coupe on the flatbed. He remembered going over the guard rail and flipping…once…twice? He couldn't recall being thrown from the car or how he'd lost consciousness but he realized just how lucky he had been. Buz's roll bar had kept the roof from crushing in and the Chevy took an enormous amount of abuse but had kept Tod relatively safe.

Buz thought of this too as he looked up at the car but he couldn't let Tod think about it too long. "Hey," he said. "A car's just a car."

Tod snorted softly and looked at his friend. "Yeah. Sometimes…"

Buz grinned and patted Tod on the shoulder. They returned to the Corvette.

Mrs. Gebhardt was thrilled to have the boys back at her boarding house again, along with having the "pretty blue car" sitting in the driveway. Although she was sad to know that the boys had decided that they would leave Atlanta once things were settled, the parting would not be near as upsetting as what she gone through the morning Tod left for the race.

Until the time came, however, she carried on with fussing over them, making sure Tod was healing up from the car wreck and keeping them well fed. She had dinner all ready for them when they returned from the salvage yard.

"Ten dollars does not seem like much," she said after they were all seated at the table and they told her what they'd received for the car.

"Not when the loan balance is a thousand dollars," Tod said.

"That is _lot_ of money," Mrs. Gebhardt said.

Tod nodded. "Plus we owe Mr. Jepson for the parts we used on the car, that's about seventy-five dollars."

"What are you boys going to do? You leave Atlanta you have no jobs. How are you going to pay for these things?"

"Tod won that race," Buz said. "He should be getting some money soon."

"How much?"

"Five thousand dollars."

"That is _lot_ of money!" Mrs. Gebhardt exclaimed and grinned. "You get that, you boys will be set for life!"

Tod shook his head. "I doubt we'll see the money, Buz. It's been almost two weeks since the race, Doyle's in jail and the racing association probably had to forfeit the money."

"I think they should pay you regardless of whose money it is," Buz said. "You won the race."

Mrs. Gebhardt nodded. "I agree with Buz."

"I don't disagree, I just don't think we'll see it. The best we can do for now is stay in Atlanta for a little while longer to pay Mr. Jepson for the parts and then go from there."

"What about insurance?" Mrs. Gebhardt asked. "Didn't you have insurance on the car?"

Tod chuckled softly. "Yeah, but when they found out I had modified the car to be a stock car racer they denied paying the claim. Apparently that's not covered under their policy."

Mrs. Gebhardt shook her head. The doorbell rang and she put her napkin down on the table. "You boys keep eating, I'll get that." She got up and went into the living room. A moment later, she came back to the dining room with a smile. "Tod, there is someone here to see you…"

Behind her, a dark haired young man paused at the entry way to the dining room. He wore chinos and a button down shirt with a logo on it that Tod couldn't make out at first and had a box that was a little bigger than a shoebox underneath his arm. Tod stood up from the table.

"Mr. Stiles?"

Tod nodded. "Yes?"

"My name's Bill Lentz, I'm with the racing association." They shook hands and then Bill put the box down on the end of the table. "I'm sorry we didn't get to do this the day of the race in Victory Lane with the pretty girls and photographers and all. After everything that happened and then Mr. Doyle's arrest, the racing association had a lot of details to work out…"

Buz was grinning as the young man opened up the box and spread open the tissue paper, lifting out a silver trophy cup. "…but everyone was happy that you were okay after that crash and I'm honored to be able to present to you your first place trophy. Congratulations, Mr. Stiles."

Tod smiled, holding the trophy. "Thanks."

"And, of course, we can't forget this…" Bill reached into his shirt pocket and took out a folded check, opening it and handing it to Tod. "The first place winnings. Five thousand dollars."

"Oh!" Mrs. Gebhardt couldn't help her enthusiasm.

Tod laughed as he held and looked at the check. "Thank you, Mr. Lentz."

"My pleasure."

Buz stepped up by Tod to check out the trophy and then look at the check. He grinned at his friend. "You're rich again!"

After cashing the check the next day, the car loan was paid off and Tod and Buz went to see Mr. Jepson to pay what they owed him. When they pulled into the lot, they saw him with a customer near a '61 Pontiac and the two were shaking hands.

As Tod parked the Corvette, the customer with Mr. Jepson accepted the keys being handed to him and happily got behind the wheel of his new purchase. A moment later the Pontiac pulled out of the car lot, sun gleaming off the chrome fenders.

Tod and Buz walked up to Mr. Jepson who was all smiles. "That's my third car this week!" he said.

"Congratulations!" Buz said.

"Yeah! It feels good to see a customer drive away happy and mark another car off in the sold column," Jepson said. "If it weren't for you two, risking what you did…you two are due an awful lot of thanks."

"We're just glad you're back selling cars again," Tod said. "I take it Doyle's dealership down the street is closed?"

"Yeah, closed up last week. All the inventory's still on the lot though. Depending where the legalities stand I suspect the cars will be wholesale auctioned soon."

"You going to buy some to sell here?" Buz asked.

"I might. No sense letting good inventory go to waste." Jepson smiled.

"Now that's what I call poetic justice," Tod said. He counted out some money and handed it to Mr. Jepson. "Here's what we owe you for the parts we used on the Bel Air."

"I already said you fellas don't have to pay any of that, after all you did-"

"Yes, we do," Tod said, putting the money in Mr. Jepson's hand. "I got the prize money from the race. We paid off the loan and since its Doyle's money anyway, I'd rather share the wealth."

Jepson counted what was in hand coming up with much more than the $75 they owed him. "Tod, this is too much."

"Keep it."

Jepson looked at Tod and Buz both. He could see in their expressions that if he insisted on giving some of the money back it would be an offense. So he simply nodded and folded the bills, putting them in his pocket. "I reckon you boys will be leaving Atlanta soon now?"

They both nodded. "We'll finish up at the freight yard at the end of the month, which is next week," Buz said. "Then we'll hit the road."

"Where to?"

Buz shrugged. "Who knows?"

"What is it you fellas are searching for anyway?"

"A place to be," Buz said. "A place to settle, plant roots. To be our own."

"Atlanta's not it?"

Buz glanced at Tod and shook his head.

"It might've been," Tod said wistfully. He then shrugged.

"Too much happened," Jepson said and nodded. "I think I can understand. But you fellas made a heck of a difference while you were here, don't ever forget that."

"Not likely we will," Buz said.

Mr. Jepson put his hand out to the boys. "I wish the best for both you," he said. "And I hope you find what you're looking for."

Tod and Buz each shook hands with him. "Thanks, Mr. Jepson," Tod said. "For everything."

Jepson nodded and he watched the boys return to their Corvette. They waved as they passed by him and returned to the road.

Mr. Jepson stood in his lot still looking reflectively toward the road after the Corvette disappeared. "Herald angels…" he said softly.

When the whistle blew on Tod and Buz's last day at the freight yard, several of the yard workers wished Buz good luck and asked for the same to be passed on to Tod. Buz promised he would do so and he looked around the yard finding it odd that Vern seemed to have disappeared.

Maybe Vern didn't like mushy goodbyes, he figured. Buz didn't linger long in the yard and the next shift was coming in anyway. He headed off toward the parking area.

Before he got there, he spotted Tod coming from the other direction and he waited. The two of them then continued on to the parking area and the Corvette.

When they got there, Vern was waiting. He was eyeing Tod in particular as they approached and Buz could see that Vern looked almost mad about something.

"I found the envelope ya left in my locker," Vern said.

"Good," Tod said.

"Mistah Stiles—"

"Vern. It's from the prize money. Now I know what you said about Buz and I going after Doyle was payment enough, but I didn't win that race all by myself. I had a good pit crew. If it weren't for you and your boys, I never would have made it to the starting line. So you split that money with Mitch and Jimmy and the others."

"Don't argue with him, Vern," Buz said. "Knowing Tod, you try to give that money back to him, he'll shove it up your nose."

Vern snorted and looked at Tod as if to size him up. "Yeah, he probably would." He then nodded. "Awright, Mistah Stiles, I'll split it with the boys. They'll appreciate it."

Tod nodded. "Good."

"I appreciate what y'all did takin' on Silas Doyle. I…got a call from the police a couple days ago, said they might have an idea who killed Cecil. I don't want to get my hopes up too high but, this is the first time since he was killed that I thought there was any chance there'd finally be some justice y'know?"

The boys nodded. "It's long overdue," Buz said.

"Yeah…" Vern said. "I ain't much on long goodbyes and all but I am sorry to see y'all go. We finally got this yard runnin' right and now I'll hafta break in a new freight master."

Buz smiled. "Ever thought of being the freight master yourself? Might be easier."

"Yeah, I'll have to think about that," Vern replied and looked at Tod. "Meantime, you ever think about racing again, you got a crew here in Atlanta that'd be ready to help ya anytime."

Tod nodded. "Thanks," he said and put his hand out to Vern. "Best of luck to you, Vern."

Vern shook hands with Tod and followed with Buz. "Best of luck to y'all. Be careful out there now." Vern stepped away from the Corvette as Tod and Buz climbed in to the roadster and he waved to the boys as they drove away.


	10. How to Forgive

With suitcases and sleeping bags strapped to the luggage rack on the back, the Corvette made its way down Peachtree Street for one last time and to the parking lot of The King nightclub. It was after 8pm, the sun slowly sinking into the western sky. The sign outside the door now advertised that that night's performance would be Diane's last at The King.

Tod parked the car and paused a moment. Buz studied his friend. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

It was a long moment before Tod answered. "Yeah. I think so."

Buz nodded and popped open the passenger door, stepping from the Corvette. Tod followed a beat after. They headed into the club.

The place was packed with people, the tables all full and everyone else jammed along the side walls of the room and around the bar. Tod and Buz gently pushed their way toward a spot by the bar, while the entire audience was enthralled by the lady on the stage, surrounded by soft light and the sultry jazz music as she sang…

 _I never had a chance,  
I thought you cared for me,  
But now I see  
I never had a chance.  
I never had a chance.  
Though you never told me so,  
Somehow I know  
I never had a chance._

 _I knew we'd have to part,  
For I could always reach your lips  
But I could never reach your heart.  
My dream about romance  
Ended in a friendly chat.  
But more than that,  
I never had a chance._

 _Not a single chance…_

The irony of the song wasn't lost on Tod. He watched her and for a moment she looked in his direction but he was sure she couldn't see him, not with the spot light on her. Nonetheless, the look sent a pang through him. What was he doing here?

He made no move to leave, however, applauding with the rest of the room when the song ended. He and Buz remained where they stood through the rest of her set which seemed a little heavier on the torch songs this time.

When the show ended, she remained on the stage during the final applause, thanking the audience. When the roar died down enough she spoke.

"Thank you so much," she said, "and thank you, Atlanta, for being my home for the past 10 years. As most of you know, Sam and the boys and I are heading down to Miami after this…"

A collective "aww…" came from the audience.

Diane smiled. "I know. If I could bring y'all with me I would, so many of you have been so supportive and wonderful over the years. It has been a pleasure to sing for you. I can only hope the folks down in Miami are as enthusiastic as y'all have been."

"You'll knock 'em dead!" Buz hollered, eliciting a few cheers and claps from the audience.

Diane laughed. "I'm going to do my best. Thank you again everyone, take care and good night!"

The crowd applauded again and the spotlight went out as Diane made her way off the stage. The house lights came up and the applause died down and the crowd started to thin out as some people made their way toward the exit.

Tod and Buz remained by the bar and Vicki, the brunette haired waitress Buz had flirted with previously, came up to them.

"I thought I recognized that voice," she said with a grin.

Buz smiled at her. "Hey, now with Diane leaving, the club's going to need a new act. Can you sing?"

"You kidding? Why do you think I'm serving drinks instead? Won't get me up on that stage."

"That's too bad," Buz said. "I think you'd knock 'em dead too."

Vicki glanced at Tod. "Got an answer for everything doesn't he?"

Tod smiled. "He usually does."

Vicki giggled. "Listen, Diane's not going to do her usual meet and greet tonight but she did say that if you two came she wanted to see you."

"Both of us?" Buz asked, glancing toward Tod. This was more Tod's goodbye than Buz's.

Vicki nodded. "Both of you. I can take you back…"

Vicki lead the way across the lounge toward the stage and then to the side hallway leading back to the dressing rooms.

"She's going to be quite surprised," Vicki said just before they reached Diane's door. "She said she didn't expect to see either one of you again. I told her she was silly to think you wouldn't come to see her last show…" At the door, Vicki knocked. "It's Vicki, Diane. I have two visitors for you."

A moment later, the door opened and Diane looked at them, her expression somewhere between relief and remorseful. "Hi," she said. She then glanced at Vicki. "Thanks."

Vicki nodded and headed back to the lounge. Diane stepped back to allow the boys in.

After she closed the door she looked at Buz. "Was that you I heard shout from the crowd?"

Buz nodded. "That was me."

She gave a half smile. "I honestly didn't expect either one of you to come back here again, not after all that happened."

Buz tilted his head toward Tod. "He wanted to come back."

Diane looked at Tod and shook her head. "You can't possibly be that forgiving?"

Tod shrugged. "I got the car back. And you're free from Doyle now. What's there to forgive?"

"Free," she said, like the word was foreign. "I'm not sure yet if I even deserve that." She stepped to the vanity to pick up the smoldering cigarette from the ash tray.

"You'll get used to it," Buz said. "It grows on you after a while."

Diane gave a soft chuckle as she carefully blew out a string of smoke. "You know, for so long I never realized how trapped I was here. On stage I was content, happy. But when the lights shut off and the music stopped, there was something in me that shut off too, blocked everything else out, kept the vision before me that everything was going good." She looked at Tod. "Then you showed up. You and Buz, but you especially. I had said you were a breath of fresh air. Little did I know you'd be a forceful wind of change." She looked at both of them. "I am truly sorry for everything that happened. I should have realized sooner, tried to do something sooner…"

Buz shook his head. "You didn't have to do anything. It all worked out anyway. Don't be too quick to find another set of chains to wear."

Diane nodded. "I guess the forgiveness I'm having the hardest time with is my own."

"It'll take time," Buz said. "And one day there won't be a difference between being on that stage and being off." He stepped toward her and took her hand. "You're a beautiful and talented lady, Diane. One day the world will be at your command. Don't be afraid of it."

She squeezed his hand. "I'll do my best."

Buz smiled and leaned to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Good girl. And good luck to you."

"Goodbye, Buz."

Buz released her hand and looked at Tod. "I'll wait in the car. Take your time."

After Buz left, Tod turned to Diane. "Buz is right. Don't saddle yourself with guilt about what happened. Buz and I are walking away intact and so are you. Most importantly, you're free. Mitzi Gaynor better look out now."

Diane gave a sad chuckle. "Oh Tod. Maybe in time I'll forgive myself for a lot of what happened here, but there's one thing I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for."

"What's that?"

She put her cigarette down in the ash tray on the vanity and took hold of his hand. "Losing out on what could have been with you and me."

He sighed and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I'm sorry too," he said and met her gaze. " _Real_ sorry."

Diane sighed and shook her head. "I'm going to ask this, I already know the answer but I'm going to ask it anyway: Come with me to Miami?"

Tod hesitated. There was the pang of temptation followed by the reminder of having been played. He forgave her, but it still burned. He shook his head.

She smiled sadly at him and nodded. She looked at the innocent freckled face that had charmed her. "Are you and Buz staying in Atlanta?"

"No."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight."

She was startled. "To where…?"

Tod shrugged. "Who knows? We figure to head north, Chattanooga maybe. Buz is the navigator, he picks a spot on the map and we go."

"Maybe someday you'll pick Miami."

"Maybe."

"I hope so, just so you can see I made it."

Tod smiled. "If we ever make it to Miami, Diane, you better not still be there. I want to walk into a record store somewhere and see your face on an album cover, right next to Peggy Lee. Then I'll know you made it." He gently released her hand so that he could reach into his sport coat. "I want you to have something…"

Diane's eyes widened when she saw the $100 bills in his hand and he counted out five of them to give to her. "Tod…I can't take your money."

"It's not my money. Well, it is… it's the prize money from the race but it was Doyle's race and Doyle's money. Take it. Use it to cut a demo record or something." He gently pressed the bills into her hand. "Just don't let anybody or anything hold you back from now on."

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she threw her arms around his neck. She held back on a sob but there was no stopping the tear that trickled over her cheek. "Oh Tod… thank you… I'll never forget you…"

"Same here…" After a moment, she eased back from him and he brushed away the tears from her cheek. Their gaze met and there was a beat of hesitation before they met in a soft kiss, full of forgiveness and farewell.

When they parted Diane held on to him for a little longer. The truest moment she'd felt in a long time.

In the parking lot, Buz waited in the Corvette with the radio playing. He leaned back with his eyes closed, the warm night air gently tousling his dark locks. He heard approaching footsteps but didn't open his eyes until he heard the driver door pop open.

Tod slid in behind the wheel and closed the door. He could feel Buz's gaze on him and he waited for the smart remark.

It didn't come and he looked at Buz, seeing a more sober expression. "Aren't you going to ask me if she cried?" Tod asked.

Buz shook his head. "I know she did."

Tod turned the ignition and pointed the Corvette to the parking lot exit. Back on Peachtree Street, they headed north, onward to the next town and the next adventure…

~End~


End file.
